Fauvist Coffee

 

A banal cup

filled with dense Turkish coffee,

the everyday black magic

contained in ordinary porcelain,

casually resting

in front of an anonymous client

Unobserved, his timid soul wakes up,

rolling out from between the tip of the heart

and the drum of the diaphragm

Before one knows it,

riding his breath,

it streams into the cup

Under the spell of the bitter aroma

through the open lips,

it fills the cup with unnamed fears,

and short-felt torments,

with childish hopes,

and superstitions,

with baseless guesses,

and carefree dreams

The squares become circles,

the edges turn to curves,

the shades turn to colors,

the observer turns into the observed

Time is distilled

into a fauvist stamp,

one that I will hang on the wall

so I will continue to observe

the anonymous client

that I was

at the secluded

Turkish cafe