Her Coffee Cup

She will fill your cup
in those nights
when the air is cold enough
that you couldn't bear it;
when the lights are blinding,
and you couldn't take it.
Or when the moon
could no longer
ease the whispering darkness.
Thus, it can't hear you
nor does it recognize your voice.

She will fill your cup
every now and then
to make you coffee,
offer you her favorite sweater,
pull you in a tight embrace.

She'll warm the kettle for you
Fill you to make you feel something,
even for awhile or just a little --
calming the numbness of your skin.
She will hold you till you hold on again.
Again, and again.
Till there is still a drop to pour.
I tell you, she will brew you something
out of her palms and kind heart.
She'll reach for the kitchen's door;
find you something that'll warm you up.

But I wonder, out of the nights
she bring coffee on your bed,
what love does she has to fill yours
when the kettle is empty;
when her hands are scars and burns;
when her blues are in those cups,
you rarely taste it.
when her lips are dry and wanting,
thirsty of something she freely offer

But surely, she will fill your cup,
every now and then
she'll brew you coffee
till the last drop and no more;
make you warm in both
cup and embrace.
Adore you in your screams.
Her smiles on your leaving.
and fill what's empty of you
but not of herself.

She'll warm the kettle as you leave, keep the heat on the stove, turn it off and leave it on, as she wait -- though there's nothing to wait after all.

📷: herbleus