(no subject)
it can never be entirely fiction...
for you to read and comment on using various adjectives
i like her look,
the woman
(name not known)
who works
at this coffee shop.
Barista goddess
whom some would call Seasoned
at first glance.
She directs it towards me,
a crooked smile, shiny eyes that
spike me like her perfect target.
My face has chameleon tendencies,
turning all these
crazy colors
i have to shield it
with five exposed fingers
to keep my skin from
melting off.
Barista goddess is so calm
about the whole thing,
making me nervous in that
unusual sense
giddy to the power of 27
her age?
perhaps.
i can't tell -- i am the target
staring is her business
Staring and coffee.
she does them both
so well.
Good Choice,
her comment
on my order:
small Sumatra.
She puts the change
(fifty cents)
into my palm
then i tip, Clink, Clink
into the glass jar
She could probably sum me up
in a short thread of words.
It seems she has
already
wearing my entire self
like bling
around her neck.
my limp existence simplified
spinning on a chain
(no longer carbon based)
between her breasts
taunting me whenever
we both glance
in mutual time-zones
i piece together a powerpoint
on zine-making
outside, on a smoke break,
she's sizing me up
four tables away.
My computer has 19% power
left and begins
Hibernating
when she passes me by
shamelessly
steadying her
arrow eyes.
not a challenge, but
it is opposition
Barista goddess
with the gaze
that leaves me
trembling
like the flame of each candle
on the Menorah
which Daniel's grandfather
lights each year one
by one
that lapse of time
when everything is steadfast
is fleeting
as she hoards her curiosity
and skillfully catches mine
lifting half
of my mouth
into a slanted smile,
like a marionette
she's hovering nearby,
but i’m trying to concentrate
on my coffee,
which is at its worst
now a cold, muddy stream
dribbling down my chin
Barista goddess frowns
turning to aim a plume
of cigarette smoke
at Trader Joes.
i see her scope
for another girl
in different direction.
for you to read and comment on using various adjectives
i like her look,
the woman
(name not known)
who works
at this coffee shop.
Barista goddess
whom some would call Seasoned
at first glance.
She directs it towards me,
a crooked smile, shiny eyes that
spike me like her perfect target.
My face has chameleon tendencies,
turning all these
crazy colors
i have to shield it
with five exposed fingers
to keep my skin from
melting off.
Barista goddess is so calm
about the whole thing,
making me nervous in that
unusual sense
giddy to the power of 27
her age?
perhaps.
i can't tell -- i am the target
staring is her business
Staring and coffee.
she does them both
so well.
Good Choice,
her comment
on my order:
small Sumatra.
She puts the change
(fifty cents)
into my palm
then i tip, Clink, Clink
into the glass jar
She could probably sum me up
in a short thread of words.
It seems she has
already
wearing my entire self
like bling
around her neck.
my limp existence simplified
spinning on a chain
(no longer carbon based)
between her breasts
taunting me whenever
we both glance
in mutual time-zones
i piece together a powerpoint
on zine-making
outside, on a smoke break,
she's sizing me up
four tables away.
My computer has 19% power
left and begins
Hibernating
when she passes me by
shamelessly
steadying her
arrow eyes.
not a challenge, but
it is opposition
Barista goddess
with the gaze
that leaves me
trembling
like the flame of each candle
on the Menorah
which Daniel's grandfather
lights each year one
by one
that lapse of time
when everything is steadfast
is fleeting
as she hoards her curiosity
and skillfully catches mine
lifting half
of my mouth
into a slanted smile,
like a marionette
she's hovering nearby,
but i’m trying to concentrate
on my coffee,
which is at its worst
now a cold, muddy stream
dribbling down my chin
Barista goddess frowns
turning to aim a plume
of cigarette smoke
at Trader Joes.
i see her scope
for another girl
in different direction.