coffee at twilight
she handed me her secret,
like free Starbucks coffee grounds.
she expected me to put it in my room,
the powdery grains of truth
no longer discernible
but reeks of smell burnt and grounded.
I remember,
everyday she would wake up and brew.
The back silhouette of her,
always disguised in bluish dusk.
Now I start to fathom,
what everything really meant to her.
those sleepless time between night and morning,
and the endless chain of thoughts that made her
brew her coffee every dusk before the sunrise
