Coffee

The brewing whirring turned down,

The aroma that surrounds,

The liquid dripping in, the sugar cube that drowns,

The rich deep colour of brown;

Getting lighter as he pours,

Until a hint of white explodes;

Into a white snowy heart, a flower, a leaf?

A signature look, and the barista seems pleased,

Making these thirty a day,

each one being better than the last

She smiles at him, it’s just a regular Friday

As it’s set on the table, and forgotten about,

Not another look at it is cast.

It melts into her lips,

And disappears

Sip by sip