Coffee fumes are wonderfully wild,
Painting the image of another clime,
Where summers were inevitably mild,
And winters easy, over in no time.
They speak the wordless language of the nose,
Preaching, not of the wondrous world to come,
But beauty in our own, which climbs and grows
Within the coffee grinder's selfless hum.
A sniff of coffee can deliver bliss
Beyond the humdrum world of most of us;
It doesn't matter if it's weak as piss:
The smell of it alone's miraculous.
There's only one scent better, and it's you:
You smell of your own self: and coffee too.
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