the color of coffee lightened with cream,
shaped to welcome cappuccino or latte,
purchased years ago from their maker,
Mary Swann. Her loopy signature
sprawls across their undersides,
these wide-hipped mugs
I bought to share
with my next love
late Sunday mornings.
Then he didn’t like coffee.
The mugs nest in the cupboard
face-down until in early morning dark
I pull one out for espresso, nutcream
frothed and steamed and sprinkled with cinnamon
the same orange-brown as the clay.
Each has a tiny chip on its lip.
They sleep together
all night long.