Press your lips against my
mouth, and drink my earthy
spices. Let the warmth tickle your
tongue as I dance down your
throat. Your hands grasp me
tightly, Fingering the sides of my white
body. My brown coat slips
off, leaving me naked and
burning. Too hot to touch my
smooth surfaces, you cover me
again. When you lick me
up once more, I am cool against
the nodules of your tongue.
The steam off my body is fading
quick, like a sailboat in the far off
horizon. “Fill me up,” I say.
But you don’t. You use every last
drop I have inside, and you throw
me away. Perhaps your sweet lips will
meet mine again in another
life. But the can you have discarded
me into does not say: recyclables.
-Ode to a Starbucks Junkie
*Published in the Spring 2011 issue of the award winning Northridge Review
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