author – Nina Revyor
card given – coffee by Heather Bursch
Morning, shower, my hair wet and tousled, cup of coffee after another sleepless night. You, in another frame, three thousand miles away. We talked until the sun rose, birdsong reaching me through the phone. And sleep was done for me, but who needs it when our nights are fun intimate hot. Silly words, not fully saddled, but this is the thing: I understand all our languages. On the phone or in the chatbox, text as teasing, then exchange. Gentle comradeship—we’ll get there, but now there is this, the straight-to-the-vein buzz, your sociable aroma. And I leave the house, the phone, the keyboard, our caffeine-driven love, for the drab everyday of the office. But even the long workday is broken up by wild blossoms, by life no office courtyard can contain. Across the country, you wake and drink a roast-to-order cup, sipping slowly, chin in your hand. With you, the lines all fall into place. With you, my world bursts into color.
Two years later and it’s still the same, that first-cup-of-the-morning rush when I hear your voice. Except now you are here, no more miles between us. Now I bring you coffee. We still write and whisper words that can’t be printed on a postcard, our slow-brewed language, tasty everyday. Late at night, we don’t need the phone anymore. Smiling sexy and yours, I make my calls in person.