among the torn silks of phrase

music: tell me, au revoir simone
mood: oyster realms & alkaline

he lays murky deep cups out like a palette, glasses circling the table and the spoons pointing in from the edges, already heavy with condensation and clean with the steam. pouring water from a pair of broken kettles, making their surfaces billow with the sandglass patterns of brewing. we wait before cutting into the pointed, loamy depths. we are studying the complexities and layerings of coffee: the sunlight, the soil, the seed. we learn to read with the texture and weight of taste all the discretions of the harvest. my favourites are from ethiopia: they are pronounced & floral & brisk as blueberry sweetness, or remind me of a forgotten time. this is the taste of tobacco flowers & bergamot. sumatrans curl at the back of my throat, dark and resineous, rich with creosotes & notes like the blackest sheet of music i have ever seen. i am still feeling for the stretch and warp of the pianist's hands.

the world fell clean and washed and dry as felted wool after the storms cleared from hills of nowhere (we are somewhere not anywhere at all). and i watch your fingers crossed & unconscious as tea leaves in my saucer, arranging the world like a tapestry of myth and maybes. i have been so busy dreaming of the heartostay.