it smells not like coffee
but cappuccino
and tastes like goosebumps
erupting over cold flesh
raindrops fat and heavy
streaking over glass looking
like cracks waiting to deepen
little earthquakes, little fault lines
on the windshield
it's somewhere in the nasal cavity
where scent converts to taste
and taste runs down throats
to pits of stomachs to tips of fingers
thumbprints raised on edge
with anxiety at what they will
be forced to touch next
sinking their ridges in malleable metal
and leaving their marks
it sits heavy weighing down the cranium
and counterbalanced at the end of
the spinal cord, vertebrae waiting
to fall like dominos so they no longer
have to hold up the guilt of
bearing a human body that
sits purposeless and unfulfilled
throughout the day
waiting to crumble, waiting
to collapse, waiting to sink back
into the dust
from whence it all came
January 30, 2013
