I want to make coffee with you,
while a rice grows in its whiteness,
in the soft murmur of the morning,
with the aroma that floats in the madness.
hands dancing, creating a rhythm,
in the heat of the embracing fire,
and while the aubergines sweat in the cauldron,
time stands still, entangles and embraces.
Coffee steaming, mist in the air,
with each sip, the world stills,
centuries of glory are counted in laughter,
in each spoonful that clings to the soul.
Read next
From @bismuthcyanide