In the hush of dawn when shadows creep
Mokapot whispers secrets to the world still asleep;
Steam rises softly, makes a ghost in the light,
And out of nowhere your face comes to mind.
I cradle my cup, though it burns like the truth,
This coffee, this ache evoke memories of our youth.
Through the warmth of the cup I breathe out a sigh.
Bitterness strengthened by a piercing “Why?”
So I drink from the depths where the essence still brews,
I savor the whispers, the remnants of you.
Bitter remnants
© Copyright: Нина Вольга, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125022407424
Свидетельство о публикации №125022407424
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