Sugar, Divinity
“I adore coffee,” she said,
raising her cup and my eyes
to her lips.
“Not enough sugar.”
We reach for the sugar
at the same time,
hands coming into contact
just above.
Michaelangelo knew this
(must have known this)
spark of divinity,
electricity between
two hands touching/
fingers brushing.
Was that what he saw,
lying on his back,
gazing at pristine
Sistine chapel ceilings?
We both twitch fingers back,
maybe embarrassed -
a moment passes,
lost to history
and hallowed architecture.
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