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Between A Sip And A Cup

Note: For the love of COFFEE, the magic word, a beautiful poetry prompt initiated by The Wordsmiths, a poetry group in Facebook.

For the woman within us who, in spite of her bruises and anguish, holds on to her passionate, volatile self between a sip and a cup of her daily existence.

Between a sip and a cup, here I stand, a mistress of your desires, brewing in your coffee with my own feminine juices, a dash of my own spiced up wants gone awry, a tinge of your own fragrant clouds, blowing the mist of your long, wistful years.

I don’t get the thick broth of your molten voice any more as you sip the remnants of the cup with an intent oblivion, as I still long to grip your hands around the coffee mug, dull, blunt, practiced in traversing the known route now, the route of a ripened home where love is not a sonata anymore.

But then, between a sip and a cup, here I stand, housing forgotten echoes of lovelorn voices, the musk of my shimmering remnants spewing a beautiful venom in that one coffee mug, a concoction that might still glitter in the pastures of your throat as you pass that one dart of a glance and kill me yet again, kill me with your red velvet mouth, your brazen kisses, whisking me away.

Between a sip and a cup, here I stand, threadbare, coughing up my staccato wants, waiting to become a doomed fairy-tale.

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