They way he asked her:
“Cream?”
When offering her
Hot cider
Brought back the door’s pneumatic gasp
Just as she entered
The coffee shop, when
A teen-aged boy was pushing fingers in and out
Of jam
To taste the sweet
And amber liquor; when
The woman closest to the window
Slipped into her mouth the soft pink nub
Of a pencil’s eraser
And the entry way between her
And an open table was getting wet
With rain;
When the girl
She stepped behind
Used her fingers to spread apart her moist and
Steaming
Cinnamon bun.
The way he asked her – ‘Cream?’
When
The rise and fall and rise
And ‘Oh!’
Of a finally opened red and purple
Umbrella
Spilled drops of moisture on her skin,
Made her answer:
Yes,
Thank you, yes! It always tastes
So
Good.
