Hearing those names
for the elixir of consciousness:
Cappuccino,
Skinny Latte,
Mocha,
Frappacino.
Italian eccentricities
that roll off my
tongue as
the caffeine
is pummelled
to slimy pulp
drip.
drip..
drip'¦'¦..
as it is caught
in the lisp
of my cup.
Hearing the
rustling of sugar
as it grates
against the sachet
to freefall
into the smoky syrup

It whistfully dances
onto my lips
with traces
of a salty tang as I sip...
moving on further
as it runs into the
troughs of my mouth
poking bitterness
into the periphery
of my tongue like needles...

and then'¦.
words colliding
sugar surging
as it infuses into
my veins like
a man in wanting
just waiting
for a heroin hit'¦.

Nothing much happening now'¦

Until that drug
that stalks me
goes ten rounds
with the boxed in
cerebrum
to tell me not so sweetly
WAKE UP!

Rushing rapids
as the water
of the Andean
Highlands swerves
through my capillaries
dribbling into the tributaries
to smash into the walls of my
aged liver'¦the torrent
of coffee'd waters just
ripping sediments
of my fleshy organ sending
it into a metabolic
flurry making
my blood molten
as it vents steam
to warm a cold
tired soul
on a Monday
Morning
getting
ready
for
work.

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