Ritual. My time for serenity. The sound of grinding beans. My body stands in the kitchen. Anticipation. The water is gurgling to a boil. If I must wait much longer, I also may overflow, in spurts. Needing and longing to taste you. But Coffee is in control. She's the Black Jaguar. I must brew her, get her timing right. Court her properly, To have her reveal herself to me. So I slow down. Patience. She will unfold more flavors, with time, if I'm gentle. Hot water trickles through the grounds. Wait. Her aroma starts to waft through the kitchen. My senses suddenly arrested, cornered prey. She snakes and Slinks into the space. Regal. Powerful. To greet her, my desperate fingertips graze her floating hand. Her warm, smooth palm, curved like my mug. Tenderly cupping the mug of steaming onyx elixir. I must bow to the queen. Coffee. She has arrived to her court from a far and distant land. "Kiss my hand. Honor me." She's rightfully adorned with bejeweled rings, a born leader. I bring her, the cup, to my lips. The initial sip is always the most profound. Coffee Pouring Down my throat, Coating what feels like my lungs, Covering my chest, Soothing, Sparking My sleepy Flint stone soul. An exhale of relief. That she has acknowledged me, and I her. For mere moments, I'm in the presence of empires. We can now conquer the morning.
