A hot cup of coffee, black.
Smooth jazz flowing through my radio speakers
on a sunny Friday morn
makes the longing I feel inside
just a little easier to bear.
I take one more drag off my singular cigarette of the day
smoke rings encircle my dreadlocked head
clouding my mind,
shifting images of you
less clear with each passing day.
You become better.
Less of what you are,
more of what I envision you to have been.
The you I dream of.
Personal deception of an aging mind
Makes me long for what we had.
the images of the perfection we once weren’t
waxing poetic over a hot cup of coffee
smooth jazz flowing on the sound waves
crashing into the foggy memories in my mind.