Fresh Ground Coffee

Pencil drawing on Bristol Board by Malek Montag, 2015

They tell me to write what I know.

But I don’t know anything,

except how to feel

and how to breathe.

I feel the soundless calm

as I draw deeply into my breast

the still and humid air around me,

and then slowly exhale.

I feel the snow on my fingers

and the bite of melt water

on my palms

while frozen air burns my lungs.

I feel the glaring sun

on my reddened face and shoulders

on as air rises in the heat

and lifts fresh scents to my nose.

I feel my heart

explode in my chest

when I see her for the first time,

and I need to remember to breathe.

I also feel superhuman strength,

pouring through me, lifting my soul

higher, being drawn up by simple words

as she breathes, “I love you!”

I feel the her delicate touch

sensuous against my sweat-soaked skin

under our over-warm duvet

with air filled with passionate aromas.

And I feel the desperate pain

of the heart ripping from my soul

as I watch her walk away

while I breathe empty, cold air.

Now I feel the comfort

on a lonely grey Sunday,

as rain patters the window panes,

of a steaming mug of fresh ground coffee.

Malek Montag, Rochester, September 2015


About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on
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