In a Restaurant, The Seventh Coffee

i love you in many languages,
but Worst, in many Names.
Such is the Malady
of a Silent Sip:

An Inner Friend whispering
'This is the moment' -
Criticizing my own Voice
and observing my every dialogue
warning me about
the expense of this fakery
of the Seventh Cup.

Dare i trust him - Them.
This debate with oneself?
Or should i believe
The Facade that tells me
'No this is not the day'.
Perhaps, The Liar,
the one saying
'She does not love you'
Or The Elder advising
i can get hurt again with
just one kiss.

How it is possible
to know oneself,
That one which
love you The Most -
When i am Many
and each loves you
in their own ways!

Across the other table
You speak without speaking:
Closer to me with my every sniff -
Aroma after Aroma of just another day,
another coffee, another dollar

But never a good cup.

Authors note: One of several poems in a series but I tried, as with many for it to stand on its own. The Capitalization is for the proper nouns, that which to draw the image from mere physical to the metaphysical and give the alternate selves, and inanimates like the Sip, the Worst, the Voice more room for movement - that is to say the tragedy of the thought in between each sip - of telling or not telling a certain love that must be told. I also used "the dollar" instead of the peso because it has a more universal appeal, than if I used a local currency. I tried to use small caps for the 'dominant' "I" instead to capitalize on the irony of the predicament. Perhaps the mystical seventh will add depth as well when at the end of a supposed creation ironically nothing is created but the same pain. I hope it works.

Published: January 22, 2005
© Copyright by Jardine Davies/webguy via lit.org