An November Morning

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An orphaned moon
lingers as an un-wiped tear
on bland brim of ughten,
as night blends into nothing~
scattering night-jasmines
on the bosom of sleeping earth.

azaleas, carnations n’ orchids,
blossom is fragrant celestial bowers
on sapphire clarities,
a perplexed sun awakens
with aureate yawn pulling
flimsy curtains of candyfloss clouds.

morning breeze sprinkles
dewdrops on sleepyhead roses~
a mother getting her children
out of bed and streaming dreams.

dewy grass tickles freshness
on her nude soles,
as she basks in warm treacle sunshine
photons are sequined on
tangled hair like wayward thoughts
to spin halos in early light.

tea leaves bleed
burnished fluidities in water,
and mixed with lemon juice
it leaves a citrus kiss emblazoned
on her thirsty lips,
as she savors untasted flavors
of a naive morn,
crisp as a golden croissant.

Caffeinated Moments…

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cooling porcelain heels
on moonlit contours
of brooding, insomniac silences,
it breathes
aromatic syllables
of caffeine promises-
alluring lethargy
with mirages of agility,

an addicted tongue
basks in bittersweet flavors,
while the pulse races
like a tired horse
flogged into swiftness
on wings of transient surge
of whimsical adrenaline.

She Brews Storms in Tea Cups

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she brews storms

she brews storms in teacups
leaving lipstick stains
on crumpled faces of paper napkins,
after a clandestine kiss
for his wife to discover
where lukewarm bowls
of insipid soup witness their rows
undiluted by mellowed candle light.

storm in teacup

she gathers kohl stains
from crinkled indigo skies at night
to scatter over apple blossom dawns,
tainting radiance of mornings
with her splashes of espresso whimsy,
her mood swings imitate tempest
and she always discovers
cynical amusement in blowing
life’s predicaments out of proportion.

tempest in teacup

a drizzle is a tempest storm
a breeze a cyclone in the making,
she collects golden pollens from meads
to freckle flawless cerise
of aurora’s soft, radiant taffeta
a frown on his face
she must autopsy to build into rage,
she thrives on the dramatic
the superfluous must be made crucial
every day is an opportunity
to build mountains from molehills…

storm in teacup1

Thoughts Brewed in my Kitchen

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tea leaves bleed
aromatic synonyms in water
as it bubbles to fill
piquant anticipations in gaze
of lethargic, mist-draped winters,
poured into chiseled transparencies,
insinuating russet delights
of sweet apple cider.

cookie crumbles
voicing soft innuendoes
of honeyed pleasures,
unheeded by a tongue rolling
in hurriedly munched bites
tinged in caffeinated sips
as preoccupations enshroud
sensibilities of an overwrought mind.

as currency crisp afternoon
crumble like stale scones,
into twilights crocheted in wildflowers,
warming cold-numbed fingers
over brewing warmth of coffee
I rifle through lists of ingredients
needed for impending supper.

appetizing breath of curry
fills the blandness of shivering nights,
preening in starry tiarras,
as moments shell and crunch
their oxymoron moods
like fire-kissed peanuts,
seasoned in finger-licking spices
luring gluttony from
routine monotony of dinner table.

ice-creams relax
their realms undiluted by winter nights
cuddled in snowflake sighs,
while hot chocolate sauce laces
their frozen dreams in passion,
and chilled spoonfuls
are gulped in rapture
to frill cold in icy pleasures.

Coffee is a Metaphor…

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Coffee-Foam-Art-46   threedcoffeeart08

insomnia sips steaming aroma
of nocturnal espresso till ughten,
in gossamer fragilities of lunar china,
savoring it on adrenaline tongue
with dashes of grappa introspections,
punctuated in the buzz
of fluttering moth-wings
indulging in the psychedelia
of streetlight’s fabrications,
until cream of dawn dilutes
bitterness of night
as a blasphemous epithet.

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when virgin morn splatters
muddy froth of stale coffee on horizons,
rinsing dredges of night
with rose-tinted fingertips,
honeyed trickles of sunshine mingle
with brewing black coffee,
flavoring bland shivers of winter
with lingering traces
of autumn’s cinnamon sighs,
to concoct a cafe miel
for erasing smears of drowsiness.

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crisp, lukewarm, nascent days
are toasts layered in sun’s marmalade
tasted by starved appetite,
with sips of foamy cappuccinos,
laced in exotic whispers
of sweet tooth cocoa~
a heaped spoonful of passion
to besmirch stoic flavors
of straitlaced coffee,
into insinuation of mocha delights.

10-Coffee

afternoons are languid,
with after-lunch complacence,
and a consciousness
over-brimmed with read chapters
of mixed feeling paperbacks,
scribbled on dogeared diaries
penned with intuition and intrigue~
sipping a naive latte
in creamy mouthfuls
of soft absentminded epistles,
day dissolves into graffiti dusks
tasting like softness
of coffee cakes on the palate.

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the fluid night is
salted in sugar granules of stars,
as a sweetened cafe noir
served in demitasse of dialogue~
a perfect epilogue to dined reflections
in diaphanous candlelight,
when fireplaces cackle
with tangerine laughter-flames,
an eggnog latte steaming in porcelain
defines the warmth borrowed
by cuddled blankets on
snoozing armchairs in solitude.

frappe

in summers sweating
their sensibilities on brow frowns,
frosted frappé mists hourglass clarities
of parched moments in
a bittersweet, iced concoction,
satiating singed petals of marigold noons.
jagged edges of heated conversations
are smoothened by frozen gulps
rolling down arid throats
like rounded, treacle vowels…coffee-cup-012