A Strange Contraption

This poem is in response to using one of these babies for the first time:

Coffee, anyone?

we stand
in our socks
a teapot filled with
steaming water
that has yet to enter
our bellies
the shiny metallic
pot
where
the mahogany
grains
delicately
sink

to

    the

          bottom

strange contraption
a light
casting shadows on
your cheeks

contraption sifts
water and grain
become
one
my palm
over yours
like
coffee to
milk

a perfect blend
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3 thoughts on “A Strange Contraption

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