the Turkish coffee cup
shards on the floor
draw blood.that delicate porcelain
holds eighty-two years of life,
wrinkled hands, cardamom
coffee-stained
smiles and desert air;
a shattered mirage on
hard, cold kitchen
tile.a thousand fangs,
they draw blood and make
home in the soles
of my feet.
cardamom coffee // a.s.m
Silenticel 