Poetry & Prose

My Coffee is Cold Now


A light fog rests on the sidewalk
and in between houses,
leaving wet kisses
on the tops of cars
and blades of grass.

As I sit on the porch,
moisture gathers on my cheeks
and weighs down my eyelashes,
like the face of a lover
pressed against my own.

As it caresses my skin;
it affirms quietly
that I am indeed a part of this world.

My atoms will return to the fog someday.