· poetry

My morning coffee and you.

Sun beaming in my eyes and the cool morning air on my cheek,

I remember Costa Rica;

Bitter-sweet jungle cacao

evening sweat blooming over my arm,

tangy plantains, white sand, coconut milk and avocado

mochaccinos with cubes of local chocolate.

Bustling morning walkers push through the door for their drip coffees and cappuccinos.

I recall Switzerland,

wheat grass and berries, condensed milk and jam-shmered toast,

the mighty Alps rising into the sky,

almond croissants on the train and the taste of espresso always on my tongue.

Coffee is a universal language.

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