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yours and mineyours is the name i will always cherish
yours is soul of which i shall always wish,
yours is the body that i hold on to tight,
yours will the presence that gets me through the night,
yours is the love that i hold dear,
yours is the bravery that will protect me from what i fear,
yours are the eyes that can read mine like books,
yours is the judgement to look beyond looks.
mine is the thought of having someone there,
mine is the memory of having someone to care,
mine is the love forever and a day,
mine is the task to show it in every way,
mine is the story, although its not much,
mine is the life, that only you may touch
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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