On the surface of a glossy table, sits a set of coffee rings.
By Daniel Durand
On the surface of a glossy table,
sits a set of coffee rings.
Faded stains which incorporate
themselves to the table cling.
The brown bean’s bitter bite
Recounts an hour of pure delight.
Through site and mind has the taste transpired
to a longing time of invoking fire,
and shuttered blinds, and abating attire.
A cluttered mind that never tired.
As the grip acquit the coffee cup’s handle,
a stain pertained, on the mantle.
On the surface of a coffee table,
sits a broken glass of wine
Scattered shards across the hearth
now rest among the pine.
As drink dripped down the table leg,
memories clamped like a stubborn peg.
Delicate feelings that once were bottled
now freely flow, like the wine that toppled.
And made a plash upon the floor-
A drunken crash, a heavy pour.
All the wine- now gone to waste,
With no divine aftertaste.
On the surface of a broken table,
sits a series of regrets.
A shattered heart with sunken scars.
A drunken insomniac.