I drank a cup of coffee
to outgrow my madness and sadness;
Never know whence they come
nor when they’ll leave.
You ask me, What’s wrong
with a little sadness?
And I say, Honey, if the human condition
means the sadness will never leave or let me be,
I refuse to be a human
or half a human.
I heard the trees’ conversation: Love is in the air.
It’s hard to believe in them though, when you see they can’t even keep
I look out the window of the coffee shop.
It seems the people all have their place to be,
A place to call home.
What do you consider a home? You say,
and I wanted to make a remarkable answer
to sweep you off your feet.
But your nimble fingers on the straw
and your red lipstick print fading out on it
keeps me from thinking seriously about any matter at all.
I don’t know, I say, What is a home to you anyway?
The bustling street outside keeps you occupied
and my question is thrown away in an ocean
of noise. Of life. Of you and me, being nowhere near each other
than the start of this conversation.
Will you still be here, I say, when your lipstick completely fades out?
What nonsense, you say, Of course I will be here:
After all, I just need to retouch my lipstick.
And I feel like crying then, No, it’s not like that.
But amidst the slow drizzling outside the coffee shop windows,
I find myself to always be a constant nonsense.
Never mind that, I smile, wiping off your lipstick, Put it on again,
and let’s stay for another minute.
Because you will never understand
the loneliness of being human, and it will be fine
to stay another minute
while your lips are still red.