Lost for words, are we?
No. It's just that
no brew could drown longing,
the one in winter...
It is but a whiff of winter, sure,
yet the longing grows for
the warm rays of a sun
as seasoned as the coffee
made by the first Italian barista,
or as potent as the sun
outside the smoking room
of an Indian cafe.
But it rained outside too,
and when it did once,
and when the leaves turned
greener with envy,
it indeed was a reminder
winters don't last,
but its longing does,
and it freezes it below nought.
-- Leslie
