Illustration — content carnival

Bleary eyed, feet tied up with invisible 5 pound weights, the air is mingled with whirring and quiet murmurs between customers and baristas. Earthy sweet scents caress the hair on the nape of my neck and push me around like a puppet. Sleep whispers demonically, tugging on my eyelids, so I reach out for encapsulated warmth. It soaks into me, a deep, rich river of energy rushing through my canyons and mountain paths.

Eyes dark, chocolatey, hair like bark, skin speckled with earth, and Brown elixir spilling down my throat, nature is recapturing my muscles and bones. Breath snakes out of me, pigments of grounds, warmth, whipped cream on top.

Brushing finger tips in passing, static love evaporates my forcefield. I feel life loosen my limbs, spread like roots into my sleepless brain.

You are tied up in twine in my head; bookstore, soft couches, cardboard slips to keep our palms from burning, sweet lips like cinnamon. We pass these cups, a ruse for our overwhelming hearts, back and forth to each other. Porcelain accompanied with bird song and brewing; you're tinted with the smells of coffee. Kisses deep, hot, fill me with a rush of life, want and need for existence.

The sun is slipping up, clouds are its guise, but we know with certainty. Huddled together, sides fused, steam framing out cheeks. Silence is full of sounds: sipping, heart beats, clothing on skin, eyelashes closing, irresistible smiles. I feel it when I look at you, a warm river rushing through my landscape, soaking into my blood, becoming my reality.

This week the theme was ‘coffee’. I wanted to write about coffee as an object, through descriptions, but also as an experience. I drink coffee every day, so I have a lot of memories associated with it.

I have also had the pleasure of waking up with the person I love in the morning and brewing coffee together. I know it’s a simple experience, waking up with a cup of joe, but I find so much joy in the little experience. I can’t help but revel in the love of the little things.

Initially, this poem was meant to be just that. But as i continued to write i realized that a lot of my recent memories were tied to my partner. We had our first date at a coffee shop, in fact.

In addition, Painting with coffee was a really fun and interesting experience. It came out much darker and more beautiful than I could have hoped. It also holds the smell well and is extremely calming to be around. The coffee grounds in the darker part of the painting hold a wonderful texture.

I'm alone, except for the dog two hills over shouting a beat into the midnight blue sky. I'm too fascinated by the smell of subtle rust on the skin of my palms, and the feeling of old rain oozing out of the dirt and kissing my soles, and that light whispery breeze giving its best attempt at pushing me over.

I let myself be a moth, drawn to the only warmth in the Blackness, the only reality in the entirety of existence. I draw that darkness around my shoulders like a blanket, and I revel in my silence, in the sleep heavy life, in the dirt on my toes and the stains on my fingertips, smiling smiling smiling.

I pretend that my eyes aren’t heavy, that my brain isn't foggy, and that I'm rising up, only my toes touching the earth now, gravity be damned.

The streetlight is like citrus and singles me out as I stand on the new pavement from last summer. My eyes are fixed to another time, neck stretched out, a lone pillar to the heavens. I was drawn to it (the specks in the sky) and the moon beam traipsing through my window, as I lay restlessly.

The smell of Kentucky seeps into my bones, pebbles of earth are lodged in my feet and I am assured by the waves of wind weaving their way through the winding hills. For just this moment, I am a creature of the night. I belong to this world, and my wings will carry me through the air, (little sound) imperceptible to the slumbering. It belongs to us (the moths) and the dog two hills over.

I wrote this poem when I couldn’t sleep at night. I found myself getting out of bed and making my way into the street. Even though it was past midnight, there was plenty of light from the street light, the mostly full moon and the stars. I felt a bit weird standing in the middle of the road; I wasn’t scared that I’d be hit by a car, but I wondered what someone would think if they saw me standing there, my arms wrapped around my sides staring up at the stars. Truth be told, it really didn’t matter.

I’ve had a fascination with moths for a while. I had researched them to see how different they really were from butterflies; there are very few differences. Basically, they’re just cuter, night version of butterflies. I’m fascinated by the thought of a creature that lives its whole life without harming any other living thing. How could anything be more lovely than that?