I sit staring at my coffee, hunched over. Guarded, like a prison meal at a table of convicts. On one side of the cup, a small envelope of sugar torn open like a long awaited love letter. A few particles still glaze the counter top resembling spilt salt, but the evidence proves different. On the other side, two liquid calcium thimbles topple over each other in emptiness. Tucked nicely between the cup and saucer, lays the utensil used to stir the simple ingredients. Both elbows come off the table, hands cusp the mug. A quick lift and tilt, to spill the lukewarm perk over my bottom lip. Followed by a slow descend, to pilot the java back to its perch where it belongs. The spoon rattles with a cascading echo, til silent. And I sit staring at my coffee.
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