You're my favorite coffee shop.
You're jazz music over crackling speakers.
You're a warm fireplace, crackling with the speakers.
You're lemon cake in a glass display,
the enticement of the dripping glaze.
You're the appeal of a leather chair.
You're the scent of a burnt brew,
quickly blown out the window.
You're the brown floors and damasked wallpaper.
You're the varnish that echoes.
You're wrought iron and the wooden clock,
the pendulum that reaps the time.
You're the peeling paintings hanging on the wall.
You're the sound of the city behind glass.
You're the yellow lighting, the warm sun,
the curtains that smell faintly of dust.
You're the crosswords, the old books,
the careless exchange of a regular.
You are the brew, the steep, the pour, the sip.
You are the tongue burnt, the tongue soothed,
the foam that crests the porcelain cup.
You are the stained glass, the stained tables,
the lipstick stain on the mug.
You take things slow, you take things in.
You waft to the senses, you are carefully crafted.
You smile into cups, a nose shrouded in steam,
fogged glasses and pink cheeks.
You are the invitation, the temptation,
another world with an open door.