I ordered a mocha on a whim and wasn't sure why until
I watched you make it. You scooped the chocolate, tamped
the coffee, held all the pieces into place and wiped
the steam wand with a damp white cloth before you held
my drink to it, filling it with air. I mistook the pattern in
the foam for hearts; I had said too much by the time you
slid my drink across the counter and I stood in my own silence,
looking down, thinking how everything I do is a love letter --
touching the hollow of spoons when I wash them, wiping
down the table with a sponge, the staccato music of my
fingers on a keyboard, the braille of my footsteps in snow,
choreography of my chaotic errands criss-crossing the city,
a skywriter in a small aircraft, careening wild across the sky.
I watched you make it. You scooped the chocolate, tamped
the coffee, held all the pieces into place and wiped
the steam wand with a damp white cloth before you held
my drink to it, filling it with air. I mistook the pattern in
the foam for hearts; I had said too much by the time you
slid my drink across the counter and I stood in my own silence,
looking down, thinking how everything I do is a love letter --
touching the hollow of spoons when I wash them, wiping
down the table with a sponge, the staccato music of my
fingers on a keyboard, the braille of my footsteps in snow,
choreography of my chaotic errands criss-crossing the city,
a skywriter in a small aircraft, careening wild across the sky.
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