infusion and some imagining

(i don't like the word "infusion" all that much. its like the "hey, look at me" of words).

this will be my last cup of coffee,
on the cafe built beside some cobblestone streets,
old London, or Paris, i can't remember
all a long memory, i can't separate the two.
was it in europe, with wine, that day,
or was i tasting some coffee all alone?

this will by my first summer alone,
far removed from my lofty dreams of romance.
sometimes the place live stops feeling like home.
and we'll taste anything with flavor,
stand in any rainstorm to remind us what it was like.

I have made this cup well, in this house that feels quite calm.
i chose a place that most felt like safe, to me.
but sometimes the day keeps me up all night,
and I'd try anything recapture some innocence.
I start you wonder if it's worth staying here.

lets stop this beautiful mess we've fallen in.
and we'll take that last cup of coffee.

something beautiful always starts that way,
really unexpected and unreasonable.
and something unimaginable pulls itself together,
bound with some old hope, and a little bit of sadness.

and, i think thats as close to love as i have come in years.

they say the sun sits higher, more rich
in the clouds of somewhere unfamiliar.
and, i hope i'll find out for myself, sometime.

~

for the record, I've never been to Paris or London. My imagination is just alluringly alive today.