An ashen mist hovers above the dirty cappuccino sea,
And furious ripples rinse in spume the narrow shoreline.
A frigid breeze permeates my fabrics, and all I can see
Is an abandoned bouquet, patch of vivacity, and a fine
Luscious cream mixed with chocolate smearing the white
Porcelain cup round which I curl quivering fingers. Might,
I feel, this sheer simplicity might glue in innocuous delight
The shattered & scattered pieces of my now restive psyche.