Creative Writing, Poetry

Coffee Bean

It was on that Sunday morning we shared our stories on our lips with one another

Our chins could feel the warmth of the steam ascend until we had no more words to give

His lips tasted like the coffee in my cup

He was my coffee bean dream and I was his vanilla sky

Our existence created an aroma we ourselves could not resist 

I need not society’s painted imagery of what my romeo should be 

Because there was nothing greater than this man and his imperfections

He was perfect for me 

i rested my head on his shoulder and embraced his arm that cradled me 

as i sipped our destiny 

Advertisements

Run it...