In morning hush or twilight's hush,
The kettle sings a lover's blush.
A slow pour, rich and velvet-dark,
Ignites the air , a vital spark.
Steam spirals like a whispered vow,
Tracing dreams across the brow.
Each note bold, bitter, soft, and sweet
Where coffee and heartbeats gently meet.
The scent, oh, how it draws me near,
A warmth that lingers, pure and clear.
Not just the bean, but memory’s kiss,
Each sip a stir of quiet bliss.
Your fingers brush the porcelain rim,
A touch more potent than the hymn
Of arabica on tongue and lip
This is not just a morning sip.
It’s stolen glances, breath held tight,
The way our shadows merge with light.
The cup between us, dark and deep,
Holds secrets we have yet to speak.
So let it steep this love, this brew,
As fresh as dawn, as old as dew.
For in each draught, my senses chase
The ghost of your imagined face.
And every time the coffee flows,
My heart remembers what it knows:
That love, like beans grown under sun,
Is best when slow, and bold, and one.
©®Madhumita
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