The coffee shop

The chai scalds my throat, scorching the bits of me left from my last meal
nearly everything in its path
Cinnamon smiles and small talk,
fill this little coffee shop
The clutter of sound-
burnt beans grinding, whipping cream, and ‘order up!’
November’s early rain brought frigid temperatures
the shadowed windows, foggy and misty,
Drawing portraits with gloved and covered fingertips
leaving love notes for solitary strangers
Trying to mask the broken hearts in the air with cardboard coffee sleeves
as to not burn my delicate palms
The coffee shop of scorching chai
somehow soothes this despairing soul

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2 Responses to The coffee shop

  1. Ermilia says:

    ‘Trying to mask the broken hearts in the air with cardboard coffee sleeves
    as to not burn my delicate palms’ Stunning. Great poem, slow burning. Graceful.

    – Ermisenda

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