AURORA ANTONOVIC

Espresso

I spent the morning with a poet
who was as moody as the changing weather -
like a sudden summer storm,
like snow in Jerusalem.
His words, at times, were as bitter
like the espresso he sipped
like a fine wine to be savored and savored;
Yet, no matter how much he relished
each mouthful, he drank until 
he was jittery, and
his voice shook.
He held out his trembling hands , and said,
”Good poetry should be like this –
enjoyed over and over -
and too much is never enough.”
He sipped another cup 
of espresso, which I declined,
But, I drank in every drop of his poetry.
 

copyright AURORA ANTONOVIC