I can’t say, but do know
Why they talk of coffee
like when John, reminded of Joan
by a stranger’s scented hair
Smiling, hypnotized and out of touch with the class in session
Later that evening they call it off
It’s sad, it’s interesting
She has his letters, lost in the library
This seed, a story, fitting genres
Dragged in theaters
Neither the spoil of hunger
Nor the nemesis of thirst
It is loved, ignored and scorned
Like an enigma, in the air
Everyone has their scripts
I can say, but do not know
The essence of coffee
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