Into The Milk
When Sunday lattes
Seem to steam special
And the music meanders
Among short and long glances
Dances on cup rims amid
Mid morning trances,
In those times
When you seem
To be floating near ceiling
Watching letters and words
Wished into the steaming,
When handshakes and touches
Slide smoothly as silk,
Someone slipped Carolans
Into the milk.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
