part II
to her immediate right sat a simple coffee cup,
red in color and symbolizing [in artists’ theory] so much.
inside was nothing more than juice and with its pineapple taste,
her lips read sweet and in.vi.ting.
the darkened hue between her hands, cusped a contrast
not usually found like the mornings of her past.
sincere yellow complimented rich red so nicely,
that she sat there smoking, alone, and quietly..
humbled and knowledgeable on the entire situations metaphor.
the sun had left her presence hours ago,
and the void of black inside her thirst cried about the years [gone to waste],
swallowing caffeine to keep energy
in keeping place with
a needed, depressive situation.
the fix and need the morning did bring those years before,
now felt hopeless.. almost comical,
in how she fixed herself each morning to
heal the wounds of another who simply slept in,
out, and around [her].
every move made can be seen as a game played,
but its not this time.
each sip from the cup is aesthetically pleasing,
taking moments to enjoy the matter..
so matter-of-factly, for there is no added sugar to
keep palattes happy in mouth or anything more.
[everything now is natural].
she sits and instead of finding lyrics,
to define the time spent wandering around a [now new] stable mind,
writes her own in order to
completely fufill the void she once couldn’t put a finger on.
not a finger, nor a hand, can understand why
she started her life then and there
with black coffee.. sighing about caffeine and how it could never
start the day off well,
for waking knew the mission would be failed by nightfall.
and it’s now nightfall, with cold pineapples,
and licking lips find sweetness lingering
about time spent pondering on how beautiful the opposite
of [prior] mornings can be.
the sun starts to rise as she finishes
her rephrasing and findings of a life once loved,
finally uncompromising all
she’s become.
she’s finally uncompromising
all she’s become.
as lyrics finish their lick, red presses again to lips
and now so like her..
she finds bliss in understanding what she’s kept cold..
can be better honored, even more
turned beautifully.. luke-warm.
the last of sweet love leaves her lips,
to drip down throats and find bliss
in knowing its over and finished.
red retires on a growing morning and this time around..
the glory is found when blankets
do not cry for his attention and..
bare knees hug chests,
leaving tattered battered clothing
to rest.
red in color and symbolizing [in artists’ theory] so much.
inside was nothing more than juice and with its pineapple taste,
her lips read sweet and in.vi.ting.
the darkened hue between her hands, cusped a contrast
not usually found like the mornings of her past.
sincere yellow complimented rich red so nicely,
that she sat there smoking, alone, and quietly..
humbled and knowledgeable on the entire situations metaphor.
the sun had left her presence hours ago,
and the void of black inside her thirst cried about the years [gone to waste],
swallowing caffeine to keep energy
in keeping place with
a needed, depressive situation.
the fix and need the morning did bring those years before,
now felt hopeless.. almost comical,
in how she fixed herself each morning to
heal the wounds of another who simply slept in,
out, and around [her].
every move made can be seen as a game played,
but its not this time.
each sip from the cup is aesthetically pleasing,
taking moments to enjoy the matter..
so matter-of-factly, for there is no added sugar to
keep palattes happy in mouth or anything more.
[everything now is natural].
she sits and instead of finding lyrics,
to define the time spent wandering around a [now new] stable mind,
writes her own in order to
completely fufill the void she once couldn’t put a finger on.
not a finger, nor a hand, can understand why
she started her life then and there
with black coffee.. sighing about caffeine and how it could never
start the day off well,
for waking knew the mission would be failed by nightfall.
and it’s now nightfall, with cold pineapples,
and licking lips find sweetness lingering
about time spent pondering on how beautiful the opposite
of [prior] mornings can be.
the sun starts to rise as she finishes
her rephrasing and findings of a life once loved,
finally uncompromising all
she’s become.
she’s finally uncompromising
all she’s become.
as lyrics finish their lick, red presses again to lips
and now so like her..
she finds bliss in understanding what she’s kept cold..
can be better honored, even more
turned beautifully.. luke-warm.
the last of sweet love leaves her lips,
to drip down throats and find bliss
in knowing its over and finished.
red retires on a growing morning and this time around..
the glory is found when blankets
do not cry for his attention and..
bare knees hug chests,
leaving tattered battered clothing
to rest.