The Breakfast Monologues

Blue, Red, Cream, and Silver

Sensation cut into slivers
Mingling at the tip of a spoon.
I lick my lips and my taste buds quiver

Maddened by that handsome bliss
That triggers the most rapturous tune.
The trick, I hear, is to take it bite by bite.

Sunday mornings I sit out in the canopy
Tonguing my berries and cream, sipping
On a tequila sunrise. Sometimes I dream

That days like this could go on
And on, and on
And I’d never have to let you go.


Sunday Morning

For you, my love? I feel nothing else but a childish grin, believing that each time he bugs me, he’s just trying to catch a little spark. Only the best for you, he remarks, as he swindles me and leaves me to go downstairs. He knew just what I wanted. A coffee cup with sugar and cream. A little breakfast, not as little as it seems.
Light beams scatter through the windows and the hands of little green babies that have been subletting the windowsill for weeks now. It’s no surprise that they make me forget that one day they’ll be traveling far away. Right now they sit stoically among the dust that scatters towards me. And they tell me, I will always be there when you wake.


The Cheesy Egg Affair


My eyelids, soft but swollen
With hours or rest and reverie,
Little breaths and broken soliloquies
Of tender love and tepid lips.

A body pressed against me
Strong arms encasing me in a citadel
Of solitude that I wish never to leave.
It’s hard to believe how bright we are
When ignited by a film of darkness.

Try as I might, I can never deceive the obvious,
That we all have to get up sometime.


Each morning he opens the door
Basking me in light
Warm as a body emerging from slumber.

He plucks me from my bed, always tender
Towards my cracks. Holding me in his hands,
I know I will always be safe.

But suddenly he turns, he breaks me
In two and I, like a fool
Pour out all my insides, only to see them
Sizzle before me. An oozing mess of a life.

His love was hot, but my ignorance
Even hotter…and my only wish
Is to feel that gentle touch
Circle around me once more.


“No breakfast, thank you. I’ll just have a coffee.”

You told me, once, about the importance of breakfast
How well eggs go on toast
And cream into coffee
Making swirls topple into pictures
Of the most brilliant daydream.

I laughed, because I had not eaten breakfast
In years, or a full meal in days.

In some ways its the best to remember—
The long afternoons of idleness
The two ‘o’ clock breakfast
With me taking little bites daintily
And you licking the jam from your chin
But tell me, how does one begin to forget?

You told me, several times,
How great things taste in excess
And how some things taste better in mouthfuls
Than in delicate bites.

Try as I might, I only wanted moments of sensation
My taste buds singing, then relaxing back into calmness.
My heartbeat contesting the normal limits of vivacity.
It’s clear to me, that my modesty could never be enough.

Now you’re gone
And I don’t know if I want to eat at all.
Breakfast is no longer a beginning
But a hefty reminder of our end.
So tell me, my most vexatious friend,
How does one begin to forget?


Tequila Sunrise

I realize, now, that everyone lies
That in a moment, we all
Could lose everything. Even the cries
That keep us weeping eventually soften.

It’s not often we feel so deeply
And so neatly we usually dismiss
Until finally, my weakness, and that vanished kiss
Reminds me that it was once okay to weep.

Before sleep became the enemy
I adored bedtime, and sought it longingly.
Funny, how that which we love most
Turns into that which hurts most dearly.

That boy of mine thinks coffee divine, appeases me
With juice, cheesy eggs, and the fruits of his love.
He makes my heart hunger. I wonder, I used to say,
If life can really be this simple.

Several days after I lost you, I suckled
A tequila sunrise. Got the nerve to finally realize
That I never really had you, after all.

Published by Virginia Valenzuela

Writer * Editor * Musician

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