I have not had a coffee since Tuesday evening when I met with fellow novel writers and we shared our latest chapters – both read and ready for editing. It was a pleasant evening although rushed for me in the “too many things to do” kind of way. I enjoyed it – but have since been down with what can only be referred to as the flu. Not sure where I picked it up but I found out yesterday that another co-writer friend was down with the flu the day before me and was feeling a tad better when I spoke to her. We probably both picked it up the same place – at a meeting we attended together last Sunday. In any case, just so you know, it wasn’t the coffee, Joe.
This past week’s illness not only put a damper on work activities (as in, I missed three days), it also puts a kink in my favorite Saturday Morning ritual of sitting with a cup of coffee as my muse and writing whatever prompt or prose comes to mind. Today, I had to settle for tea with honey because the stomach is still very sensitive, and that’s putting it mildly. There is still a niggling headache poking around in there, too, and I had one of the worst nights in history… exaggeration? I think not. I’ve just finally had a bowl of cereal with yogurt and hope all goes well with that.
Anyway, back to the coffee deprivation. I thought I’d share with you my thoughts on coffee and you will see why it will be so missed until I am back to normal.
The coffee shop buzzed with simultaneous voice. I sipped my latte. Although at leisure and lost in the luxury of the moment, I remained semi-conscious to the scattered chit-chat from several nearby clusters of coffee-lovers. Perhaps sharing a story. Possibly making a memory. Try as I might, it was unrealistic to successfully concentrate on all of the conversations and virtually impossible to contribute to any one. I closed my eyes.
Somewhere quiet except for the crashing of the waves and the cry of the seagull in flight. Somewhere warm where the sky is a delftware blue. The ocean spray droplets are welcome as the sun shines bright and the heat makes light of the surf and sand. Somewhere on a beach as a young lover I frolic, with make-shift dreams, perspired love, and requited passion. The day is a prelude to the night. I laugh. We are close.
Lips wet with kisses sunburnt by nature’s loving touch. A thirst soon quenched with pleasures aplenty so sweet they block out any bitter memories. A haunting hunger soon satiated by love so liberal. The body trembles. Sensors erupt. Nerve endings on edge suddenly receptive to external stimuli. My hands caress. My cup runneth over with unfettered feelings. So lovingly close to my lips. Steamy. Blinking back tears of overwhelming passion, I swallow hard.
I open my eyes. I am spent. I must have more. I am addicted. My emotions overcome me and my better judgment is shamelessly abandoned.
I need the dark one, sun-roasted, a Spanish delight
I must have the one that’s full-bodied, not light
With sweetness the kiss of the passionate French
Come one, come all – give in to this wench
I desire exotic, domestic – tall and robust
Any with substance and mountain-grown, yes a must
My cup now empty – the passion has cooled
Give in to the moment – be easily fooled
These steamy confessions, I breathlessly say…
happen over and over
just order another latte.