the fragrance of dark coffee
sometimes i have beautiful thoughts,
and i try to use words to describe them
but very scarcely do they suffice.
so i apologize in advance if these words
don’t move you the way the thought moved me.
they can come out bitter,
like a fresh cup of coffee.
if i offer you a cup:
you may try and put your own Splenda into it-
the one you keep stored on your person
for times like these.
in the end, you’ll enjoy it with me
over light conversation.
feel the gentle jitter of caffeine
sent down your spinal cord.
let the sound of your inner voice
acknowledge itself. listen. breathe.
you’re reaching the bottom,
but no matter how hard you try
you will not get that last drop.
the end may be the sweetest,
but it’s the part that always
leaves a stain in the cup.
Phillipe Chatelain is a poet from the Bronx and editor of In Parentheses. He prides himself on finding a balance between crucial self-reflection and expressions of awe or disgust toward the outward world. His biggest astonishment is the seamless unity of existence connecting all living things. His plight with humanity stems from their role in obstructing this unity. His work is forthcoming in Enhance Magazine, The Acentos Review, Praise Writer, BarebackLit, Blast Furnace, and Rockett Review. Follow him on Twitter @uptownvoice, or check out his blog at rhythmicfacets.tumblr.