The Cafe

The cafe smelled of people,

And their sad shining smiles.

There was dew

On my prose,

That deep caffeine dusk.

In my cup 

A summer's breeze,

In me,

A winter's dream,

The dew turns into a shower,

For the breeze will blossom

To a flower.

They speak a language,

I no longer share.

Do you hear?

Did you try moving closer?

I looked back into my cup.

There was dew,

Over all that one could hear.