NaPoWriMo: 26

Sumatra

The taste of sound
roasted varnished beans
falling from bag to grinder
like waves eroding intertidal
rocks; the feeling of smell
crushed aroma between
the cool, clockwise weight
of slate painted porcelain;
the color of brewing
volcanic pebble-sized
darkness filtered into
crimped white starkness;
the sound of water
steaming flood hissing
onto paper pools of
chocolate mud;
the pouring from pot to
cup sounds like eagerness;
the first sip—bright, herbal,
sweet, like spiced earth—
the feeling of a full mouth,
satisfied.


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