The Enigma: A Poem

Sweet spot,

The enigma

Of flow,

Not a regular.

Second mug

Sweet cream

Swirls

To caramel.

Clacking away

Priorities then passion,

Fingers are

The keys.

It comes

Rushing, quiet,

Summer storm,

Connection.

Lost in the

Appearing words

Birthed from

His irises.

As quickly as

He comes, he goes

Into the known

Unknown.

Dry cup,

Napkin laid,

My fingers crave

Another word. 

- Hannah