An old-fashioned café, nothing new,
A corner table, curtains half-see-through.
You order coffee, dark and warm,
I take a glass of water, simple form.
A plain clear glass, no ice, no shine,
You talk. Your words dissolve in mine.
They hit the glass, sink, then sway,
Soft little ripples in what you say.
I dive into the glass with my eyes,
Follow the patterns as they rise.
Spinning, turning, losing track,
Like rivers that don’t look back.
How fast the time escapes our talk,
Dripping slowly down the wall.
Water fills me through and through,
You know, you could bathe in me too.
So I would touch you everywhere at once,
With every surface, every pulse,
Kiss you with lips still wet with rain,
Hold you in drops I can’t contain.
Enfold your breath, don’t let it go,
Dive into me, dive in slow.
Hold your breath, stay right here,
Dive into me, don’t fear.
I close my eyes and feel the space,
I hear the water sweeps and sails.
Even in your coffee cup I see
Drops instead of what should be.
No reflections, only flood,
Today I’m made of bloodless blood.
It drips from ceilings, soft and slow,
Filling the corners where we never go.
And when I finally slip away,
You don’t call me back to stay.
Hold your breath.
Stay right here.
Dive into me.
Don’t fear.
I spill to streets, through doors, through lanes,
Collecting puddles left from rains.
My sense of self turns blurred and wide,
Too many waters mixed inside.
I try to clear what I see,
But all is muddied endlessly.
The different waters blend and twist,
The world can’t be so simply fixed.
An old-fashioned café.
Your coffee’s cold.
My glass is empty.
Nothing can hold.
But hold your breath.
Stay right here.
Dive into me.
Don’t fear.
23.01.2026
