romances like coffee.
all day long at the beach, finger in the sand until the tide comes in
'wipes off the pictures you drew' romances.
evenings at the mall, Crate and Barrel, spice racks and sweaters after work.
fights in front rooms, wax off the floors,
blood on lime-green snake-skin sneakers.
broken arms, well designed living rooms.
ruin a perfectly good sofa for everybody.
I'd like to have coffee in the Tate Museum of art someday,
staring at pictures.
my girlfriend next to me sitting up, falling back, in a sea of white paper cups
popping up in the air with fountains of deep brown coffee producing creamy runs of frothy white
milk and toffee across me when I try to pull her out of it.