I smell your coffee,
locked away behind
your front door.
Sitting on your breakfast
table built for two
carved legs holding
the circular circus
of the morning.
I smell your coffee,
trapped in the air
outside your home.
Greeting the dog walkers, collectors, joggers,
bus takers, couriers, hopeful,
wandering, forlorn,
blistering, bellowing,
fearless, listless,
just waking world
on the sidewalk–
taunting each tired mind
to wonder if just maybe a little more
might cheer them,
if they ever
make it out alive.
We smell your coffee,
locked away from our yearning senses
behind
your front door.
Sitting on a breakfast table
built for two.