And you were that paradox,
but finally wednesday arrived. it was time for the coffee festival youd organised.
Who said ‘waiting is unpleasurable?’
Not Nietzsche! And doesn’t coffee solve all paradoxes?
(Except those concocted by Kafka.)
I scratch my head and turn myself inside out.
Pure beauty is holographic,
therefore my imperfections make me unique
bean ssssshhhhht crushed completely
by such imperfectly executed anticipation:
flawed, flawed as paradoxes can be, the imperfect imperfection – a treat
digested space and welcomed your absence
folded time into a neat little napkin, placed it next to the half filled coffee cup,
        and the creamed cheesecake on the white plate
I wanted to shout ‘Cheque’s in the mayo!’ but
you had mustard my courage and tongued my cheek
as I walked into the street of no path and you
you were that mysterious Cat
	alive and dead at once, for once
	i wondered alound instead of alone
	about
	the meaning of your pain
i took another draught of morning’s black friend, and turned the page of Pet Semetary
but my mind was thinking about you, your hands in the light
like tomato sandwiches, left outside overnight
to mould in the purple garden
tensed like water
        supporting air
a furry concave meniscus, rippling …
Eating commas and bonbons. saccharine
smouldering and gurgling for pardon
i felt i knew how this was going to end, even before i had forgotten your name
        for the third time