Dark Mocha
Chilled wind
Papers organized
Minds scattered
In need of a warm black brew to calm the chatter up above
The thought is early
Behindhand
But as the suns rays dwindle
The birds chirp, what lovers do
As they fly to their nests
To rest after wings spread from sunrise to sunset
For a warmth determined by the efforts of the hour
As we search for that Sunday kind of love
Slow
Like my roaming eyes tracing her forward motions
Down by the river
Where we roam to find our own
Dark
As the shirt on her back
Gazing at the swiftness of her flow
Nitpicking at vague interests, absent of the deep blackness I crave
Subconsciously comparing to the shadow of her that lays within my heart
Rhythm of chords dancing
Chanting
One… Two… Three… Four
Four words
Three steps
Two chuckles
One sip of my dark mocha.