The night wakens thoughts
of the sound of Fado, reverberating
in your perfectly acoustic kitchen.
I can still smell and taste your coffee
made by those world-traveling hands—
the freshly-ground coffee beans
put into a pot I’ve never seen before
and onto the stove for 20 minutes,
brewing into a religious experience.
It definitely was not Foldgers in my cup.
I was enthralled by you paralleling
the Turkish and Venezuelan coups.
You ended up being right.
I relished in the moment
when I would walk through the door,
and Crazy Reina would greet me
with excited kisses and jumping.
You would affirm her enthusiasm with,
“I know! Right?!?”
I would immediately grab your shirt collar
and drag you into my sanctuary.
My heart stops and the tears swell
when I think of you reaching for me in the night—
when every ounce of our beings shivered
from the cold of our naked skin being uncovered,
followed immediately by pleasure.
And as quickly as you entered into my life,
you also exited.
Now, my body only shivers with the loss
and grief of missing you.