A sweet aroma.
A familiar brew.
It wafts my way.
Teasing my eager nostrils.
Early in the hour.
Late in the hour.
Its innate potential potent.
It treats my malaise.
Clearing the mist in this head.
This Arabica concoction.
Is a must.
An essential ritual.
A necessary drug.
That opens a certain mental portal in the mind.
Yet I am a mere mortal.
Thrumming a kind jibe.
A libertine leaning.
A glad candour.
And a beatific smile.
It is all mine.
The joy and the bliss.
Because of this coffee.
It performs this magic to I.
Spurring a necessary glee.
It is pure love.
My coffee.
Another mug please.

© Ayoub Mzee 2012


2 thoughts on “Coffee

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