The True Heart
A coffee shop! That's where, the heart is.
Fore'er, I'll be here, and rest, my sashes down,
rest my shoes, my feet are hungry, for rest-
and rest, everything, feet, and legs, the torso, head . . .
as languidly I extend every part that moves toward,
the path to enlightenment.
I am lying among sashes, twisted about the body,
scarves, fringes- a potpourri of words entwined melodies,
of rhyme schemes, alliteration, and the fall,
the rise and the fall- the darkness and the heart.
I lay among refined clothes that pools around,
creating arcs about my figure as I negligently,
land myself across two hard, oak chairs that,
speak, whisper across the wide chatter-box,
that sounds its bell of humanity's tears and love,
while I rest here in my visions and tastes and penchants,
of herbs, spices, and other pretty types of budding roses.
But the exquisite world I'm inundated within,
are the clothes, and teas, and spices and things-
all of which become themselves, outdo themselves,
so exquisitely, richly divine chocolates, roses, delicacies-
all of the sweetest substances from tea and clothing,
are evoke from out my imagination . . .
tea that vanishes in the wake of disillusioned dreams,
and in the end, all I have, are blue jeans and empty tea-holders.
Yet the words across the page are real.
In them I am who I imagined.
A coffee shop, the true heart,
a blessing, of words and many scents,
the lines of reality and the illusionary.