The torch of a furnace,
height of summers heat,
radiates through windows
car seats, even the pages
of my journal, like the sands
of the mojave desert in August
these pages radiate
opened and turned
upon a small table
inside the air conditioned Starbucks;
Where poetry evaporates
and mingles with aromas
of coffees, espressos, and iced cinnamon dolce lattes…
Advertisements
…it mingles beautifully, Reno! 🙂
Ahh!! thanks always Marina, and thanks:)
Ahhhh… Air conditioning!
Those last three lines are absolutely superb – so enjoyed the poem, so earthy.
Thanks much Don! Good to see you here!!