Black Coffee

Black coffee

 

In the cold white of the saucer,
Sits a coffee-brim like an eyeball.
Voices murmur, and Banter too,
Is around. I speak, I listen,
But nothing's coherent. Only the eyeball
Stares, pretending to be at my side.
But I have known such wanting stares.
And as the cobwebs dance
In the midway trance,
She still stares somewhere perhaps,
And I stare too. But,
The coffee is laid bare
And it's cold now.

Reviews

[@JenniferNicholeAuthor]

I have a sense that the eyeball is a metaphor, am I right?

[Koushik Sen]

yup.... :) for the past.... and the unborn future

[@JenniferNicholeAuthor]

the unborn future... I like that! You should write a poem with that element!

[Koushik Sen]

mm hmm... if you insist ;)