Burnt Coffee

Senses assaulted by scents both sweet and sour, aromatic and raw.
Memories tumble and collide, senses questing for connections
flooding profuse, to infuse and shake loose. Memories!
Through the window on breath of April wind spring scent of mowed meadow. Green, sunshine, blue skies, butterflies, buzzing bees. Carried on a wafting breeze.
But the scent that wins the sense tingling triathlon of sight, smell and feel?
Burnt coffee brown. The teasing temptress, the aroma of good taste,
understated, sexy sophistication. Perkiness, pick-me-up put-me-down ground coffee.
The scent that says, domesticity isn’t dead but is instead a fine art, practiced in this house
The scent of a happy harmonious home. The safe scent of balance, centred stability.
The undisputed hallmark of wholesomeness. Burnt nut brown,
polished wooden panels, old oaken beams and boards, scuffed of course
the library scent of browsing, books beckoning, reading, researching, studying.
Nothing wakes the world as decadently or as delicately as
the delicious brown smell of burnt coffee.


© Dave Kavanagh 2016


			

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