byWillow Rain©

“Cream, no sugar”
I repeat it,
even after I feel I should stop,
a slow loop in my head,
a new pattern to follow and trace,
as repetitive as if I had OCD.

“Cream, no sugar”
The shape of the words makes me smile.
It becomes a melody,
rising and falling,
coming in different cadences.
I consider trying it in other languages.

I think about you,
and imagine your mouth
and how it would feel,
to have my bare feet striking carpet.
running down hallways,
hot, hot cup in my hand,
thumb pressed over the tiny gap
that keeps the goodness in.
Rug rough across my knees as I drop,
laughing and happy,
knowing you know
I won’t have forgotten.

It is a little gift,
something to hold.
You told me something you liked,
something small I can give you.
I hold the potential,
like a sparkly living thing.
I cradle it in the curve of my tongue
and think of the taste of your approving smile.
What would it feel like to please you?
“Cream, no sugar”
“That’s it.”

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