Cream

Thinking about how coffee
is better with cream,
and some people make
our lives better 
just because.

The reason poets overuse tired metaphors is that they work,
they're true, and nowhere is that more correct than you,
the cream poured in the coffee of my dreams or (what I often think
of India) the tea enjoyed each afternoon. Clear liquid of my life,
transparent open book for anyone to look inside and see the person
I have always tried to be, undone by who I am become with you.
This murky passion of deliciousness, a smoothness calming every
nerve, uncertainty. Not every pie requires whipped cream but
I'm the better for it,  piping peach topped with a flaky crust, I lust
for the enigma that is cool, sweet cream to contrast every bite. I
am the other substance, whether coffee, tea, or pie or cheap hot
chocolate mix to make it more worthwhile, and you are cream.
Some other connotations come to mind but I decline to
share a sharper, deeper look into the metaphor, into the cup
that is my heart and soul.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2017