MACHIATTO

I STARE LONGINGLY

into your deep abyss.

Begging that my thirst be whet

by your smoothe silkiness...

seeking what would be

where I reap but naught;

hoping that my yearning

will be met

with you supple release.

MMMmmm

MACHIATTO...

TALL

...all that's left within

His eyes reflected my image. Standing so near him in the pick up line, my latte and his called for machiatto was all the clatter that the barista back logue could muddle under to. I had reached a hand out as he lifted his paper traced cup to dive into what I knew was waiting for him. I was engrossed in my own rush for the sensual uplift awaiting me in mine. "Oh... sorry," I bumped his hand with mine, nearly causing a drop spillage of the love in both cups. I turned to face my victim. His olive green eyes held me in perfect guise, and I was sure beyond all recollection that his was beholding me when he spoke, "No, pardon me. I must have..." I stopped him mid line. "That's okay. A little Machiatto in the Latte can't hurt." "You come here often?" he picked his cup up from the high counter and tapped my free hand with his free hand. As I pulled my frothing splendor closer to take a sip, he motioned his table near the window and fireplace. One sip in to avoid another spill, I answered, "I come here for a refill on the power of love. I just can't get it this good..." and he finished my line, "... no place else!?" We both laughed. He agreed. "This coffee and a fireplace and ... if you join me, I was just catching up on a manuscript." I nodded, "I'd be pleased to. I usually sit there at the close end of the fire.. later in the day." We stepped away from others in line for their own experience at love, Me and Mr. Machiatto tall.