By Kelly Aurora Beltane
The earthy essence of a bean. Held in a pot. In hot
hands. Plants itself on tongue. For a time. I drink and let it sink
into my deep channeled nerves, like roots reaching,
stabilizing, tapping. Carnivorous coffee steam flower growing
open, trapping and consuming my buzzing desire.
Sprouted scents condensed against olfactory glands. I stretch
toward the sun. You do the same, joe. We both have, before.
As broken down and separated grounds, as new seeds,
as those who are just waking.