Percolated Thought

This coffee misunderstood me... Now I sit here, writing poetry like a lover waiting for a train that derailed with thoughts written across margins blurred by the same palm that holds the pen but erases wet ink.

 This coffee mistook me… Now I wait for this poetry to come out like a train of thought that ushers a love lost to a love that’s been finding all loves that belong to others.

When one is drunk from taste, the other from aroma, I am a self-confessed conferrer of the essence of love, coffee and poetry. Trains and thoughts are platforms.