Poem of the week a day late.
Coffee
by Maureen O’Connor

I want it hot,
a powerful boiling gift
to lick my tongue
bitter black or
sweet smooth with milk,
essential like water
or life’s blood.
I need it to
percolate my endorphins,
stimulate my senses,
caffeinate my sensibilities
and wake me,
like a good lover.
Then it leaves me
wanting more,
hot.