The more coffee, I drink
the more I want
the more I write
the more I want to write
the more I think about women
the more I want to think about women

It seems that coffee might just be
the only thing that I can stop doing
if I really tried?

Or, do women and writing also
contain caffeine?




Pour me a bit of your darkness my love, adorned with flowers

a simple taste, a simple want


Your colors, the intensity of knowing you

how you love, how much, how strong the feeling being

not to take you, right here and now


The searing light, the afterglow how your touch, how the closeness, blinding me

telling me, telling me


Your inner-core, knowing how you burn, how your touch,

how you’ve struck me


making me helpless, hapless, hopefully bound and gagged,


What pleasures await me

while love still offers its magical ways, its other ways of thinking

how to look at things differently,

how to love you intensely

so intensely….



Sex and coffee

both in turn
allowing me
to stay awake

while others

If the one fails
I still have the other
to comfort me with,

while it is

that one is better
to keep my eyes open
as the night grows old

than the other one

though that choice
is not always of my




Having two


would others
consider them,

Defining character traits,
might I offer
in their defense

Having two passions,
not to be denied
nor, dismissed

defining who and what

we are



She had moxie
all right,
keeping me up
all night
with her caffeinated

Without her
I couldn’t sleep
or, with her
as well

a paradox
of enormously



I realize
you’ve known
other men
and perhaps a bit
on the decaf side,
but if you are looking
for full-bodied richness
pure and unadulterated
freshly ground
not to be mistaken from others
professing the same
quality, or exquisite taste

Wow! I might even score
if you consider me,
as a good tasting
cup of coffee……



Sitting here
perched between my now-fading
and the work week to come,
a state of Limbo exists,
between what has happened
and what is to come,

Enjoying a cup of coffee
grown and brewed in the past
its vapors disappearing into my future
not wanting, nor expecting anything more
to happen at this point in time,

If I could, should I re-trace my footsteps
or, unsay my words, or un-think my thoughts
from the hours, days gone past?
Is what I remember now, what really happened,
or, is it a mixture of other thoughts, people, or just
the backwash of time, I hear?

I might as well try to run faster into my future, though
the people, I will be together with, and their thoughts
are not yet ready to be released into their past,

When another moment of solitude comes, somewhere
in the future, I might just enjoy similar thoughts
perhaps another cup of coffee, and the thought
that this post, then existing in the now past, was a good one
wasn’t/ isn’t it……?



She said, “I want it here
and now! Then again, and again!
What about you?”

I reached over
and tasted the coffee

“My God Woman,
I said Dark Roast”
“Dark Roast!”

Sex and Coffee

As I’ve grown older
I’ve learned to appreciate
the better things in life

Until I find them both
I’ll still have the coffee to enjoy



I have seen
wondrous things
but not all of them
being accepted
by the minority
who in their good right
demand a place,
where they are heard
respected, loved

Everyone wants
the same treatment
united in the cause
of righteousness
giving their all
not standing on
that we all are

The minority, though
must also accept
that people like me,
who drink coffee,

Might just be
better than everyone else
who doesn’t,

Just an opinion
that’s all….



What avoided me
was good at it,
I was amiss, this day
not like any other, not affording
a chance for a cup of coffee
just like any other,

At work, I yearned
I had dreamed the whole way
coffee to be drinking,
a woman, brown-skinned
sporting emerald eyes,
with the darkest thoughts,
espresso in nature, tempting me
luring me to her lair where we sipped
Jamaican, Ethiopian and Italian Roast
until our senses, high on caffeine
let our passions loose,

The coffee machine
a beast of sorts, providing nourishment
to the weary of body and soul,
the aromas wafting, grabbing me
almost like my grip on her hips
drawing me closer, tasting her
dark pleasures, while she whispered
in a language unknown to me,

Broken it was
not just quiet, but deathly quiet
I felt us parting, her and I
If she attained ecstasy, would she be alone
for I waited anew, a chance to taste of
her pleasures, rich enough
for a poor sod like me,
with turned-out pockets, not owning
a pence, a coin of sovereign to call my own,

The day dragged onward
my limbs hung like branches laden
with coffee beans, ripened and ready
to be picked,
the fruit of my loins, tensing, sensing
as I shook the day off me, as best I could
waiting for her black redemption
the tunnel at the end of my lightened road
averting all of her former suitors, wanting her
lusting only for her, only for her,

Upon arrival at my own domicile
I expected her to be there, waiting
open arms, wearing my favorite
the piece of clothing, that first drew my attention
to her, her lips painted, black
inviting, a chance to rest, to invigorate,
entering into what had escaped me before now
but wait,

Waiting was no stranger to me,
the best of the worst day, I ever had remembered
the coffee, black enough
to drive the uninitiated away, running screaming
not knowing of the pleasures, she could inflict,
if only, I knew, that once would not be enough for me
I drank of her beauty, again and again

This modest retelling
my story, now laid out for the world to read
the final act, when locked in a final kiss, we were
drinking of her pleasures, again and again

As I sit her, being awake for time immemorial,
eyes open, as if never again to close
her darkness, the strength of her caffeine
allowing me the pleasure of remembering her
remembering our last meeting
the last kiss

With sleep being just another path
in her world
of black