Photo by Vadim Butenkov on Unsplash

What she meant

Turkish coffee fortune telling

Diluted instant coffee just too early love me, when puzzle pieces are lost under train station cashier carpet wishes I comprehend just too late find me, vacuum cleaning mental lockdowns, in the ever-narrowing streets of Stockholm Syndrome.

Every troubled midnight.

It’s all about; instant monkey-sex-money.

Cried the coffee.
Sour cream.

And was graciously spilled, anonymously, into a Southwestern hemisphere sink.

Expired cheap wine for breakfast, and throw-a-bone Newfoundland and Labrador retriever joy.