Libre del deseo de hacer , Dulce vientre del dolor

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The liquid rises to the rim and then by a fraction exceeds even this limit. Only it does not spill. It holds - a bulge of coffee arcing tragically over the china, preserved by the phyiscs of surface tension, rhyme to some unspeakable magic, though as everyone knows, coffee miracles never last long. The morning wake-up call wobbles, splits, and then abruptly slips over the edge, now a Nile of caffeine wending past glass and politics until there is nothing more than a brown blot on the morning paper.