Over a Cup of Joe

I am a simple man who dreams simple dreams of complex things
But I dream, that they might be…
…if only for me.

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I wondered what it might be like if somehow, someday, I had the chance to meet anyone I wanted, anywhere in the world, over a cup of coffee…

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I’d love the chance to visit with you even if it was only for a moment over a cup of coffee and listen as you went on about this or that, as you liked, and just be carried with the flow.

Small things like the color of your nails or the print of your lips in lipstick upon the cup would remain, like gold, inlaid upon my memory.

I know that, mess that I am, I couldn’t capture all of you. Not just meeting you like this – that you might be mine to hold…

…save perhaps only a gentle squeeze of your hand in parting.

But I hope that you would overlook and understand if my eyes strayed to trace the gentle curve of your face surrounded by the highlights of your hair as it spilled onto your shoulders.

And watched your lips as you spoke, parting and forming every word as if music for my ears alone.

And I?

I would have the wistful thought that they might part for me, as deep calls to deep, and not just treasure the desire they raised – but that I might taste the passion, if for only the briefest touch if they would but brush my lips in parting.

What? What’s that you asked me?

You have me totally distracted…and mischief plays upon your smile.

And I hope you’ll forgive, for I know I‘ll look too long into those eyes of blue-green and if soul could actually call to soul, you’d hear my whispered plea and know…

Silly me –

…and know, that I’ll be caught, fool that I am, staring into your eyes. I’ll try just to look – but too long…the temptations just too great. For all the things I’ve heard, and learned, and thought of you are hidden in their depths and I would find you there.

For I think heaven lives there too.

But who am I to dare to dream such dreams as these? For what could you see in me?

So I’ll not dream of the touch of my hand on your thighs as they part or your breath in my ear as I kiss your neck and slowly, so tenderly work my way down to your breasts ~ for I would have you and all of you – to know every movement and sound, and let these lead me to every desire you’ve longed to have fulfilled.

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To have your body arch to meet mine ~ as aching hunger seeks to meet aching need.

(And I wonder, is the name you would call me in passion the same name you would call me of love? But of these two heavens is certain, either is dearer than friend).

And then, passion spent, to sleep.

And let me wake first to the gentle rhythm of your sleep. Soft morning’s glow filters in upon your peaceful face and I place my hand on your up turned hip and watch the languid rise and fall of your breasts as I wait.

And you blink at my touch, then slowly yawn and stretch as I kiss you and whisper,
“Wake up sleepy head.”

But now I go to far, and dream of another life.

Did I say I’d not dream of things like this?

I lied.

For your eyes conjure this in me.

But I’ll not speak of it as I pay the bill and leave the tip upon the table…and gently squeeze the hand I’ve dreamt of oh so many nights.

Who am I to dream such dreams?

But you inspire me…

…If only over a cup of coffee.

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