A love Letter from a Newspaper to a Coffee Cup
(by Cathryn Turhan)
She called me blue print, she said
That before me there was nothing
but draining boards and bed-side tables,
uncoastered, shrinking from the alarm.
That she kissed away my paper cuts because it made her calm.
She with that black skin, smelling of mornings and bad diners.
But with eyes as round as berries, swollen and sad
Because I reminded her of the poetry she left on her desk
Because my words came bleeding from the centre of my chest.
We could be the quiet couple, squabbled over crossword clues,
Bu she always arched my spine though, tattooed rings on the news
The shape of open mouths against my skin, centre-spread.
Tongue-singer, kept her fingers inky, kissed the magazines instead.
And when I saw? A smile handle-wide, without a bean of guilt,
“My darling, it was only milk, why cry now it’s been spilt?”