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.
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