Coffee With A Side Of Pining

by Renwick Berchild

Sleuth of my loins keeps himself to the doings of sudden street crossings,
most irregular comings and goings, having an epiphany
at the ferry, realizing that he must go right now, hurry off to
dream of me, write visions of me, lay in a bed of uncomfortable need
for me, address my shadow, confess his most sinful thoughts to my coat
I left hanging on his peg by his doorway, his collar constantly tightening,
his hands constantly needing unwinding, his armpits
ejaculating waterfalls when he finds himself too close to me,
creating Holmesian reasonings for his jittering should we brush shoulders,
bump elbows, fingers zapped in an unexpected touch,
my chiffon dress skimming his pants leg, he takes a breath to collect himself,
apologizes for the space he creates, apologizes as he opens the iron gate,
apologizes that he is apologizing too much, his eyes fixated
on my collar bone,
down, lingering at each cardinal point along my body, as though
his gaze were two beasts, each tongue lolled and stretching over
the lid of a clear lake, debating how best to seize
thirst, slate his nerves, quiet my roiling silence and coy presence
with the right words, the proper scene, the exact multitudes of praises
to grant me, without ever uttering his precise want, but proposing
to guess accurately whether I would like to take a walk in the park sometime,
and perhaps, maybe,
a coffee or two.

9 Comments to “Coffee With A Side Of Pining”

  1. Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.

  2. I can just live in the phrase “address my shadow,” for about a year. Spectacular piece.

  3. This is a fantastic piece… it gives a totally new meaning to taking a coffee… it sounds so much like something happening for real

  4. This was expansive and very intimate. Masterful work here.

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