I sometimes make coffee just for the smell
It is a warm, and dark and pleasant scent
Like winter mornings when fresh snow just fell
But under a quilt is that morning spent
Mixed with milk it smells of old Autumn morns:
As a child I would drink if fast when I must,
Hurried to pull on a coat to stay warm
And rushed to join all my peers on the bus.
Mixed with tobacco it’s late college nights
Intense conversations in quiet cafés;
Where mere words showed with beatific light
How one could jump from sehnsucht to faith
Just by itself it smells at its best, I think,
It is vivacious, and wholesome, and good
It smells like a Siren’s song “Come and Drink”
I smell the song and obey, like I should.
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