On coffee
By Zelonoye Derevo
Coffee is brewing.
Coffee is steaming.
Coffee, coffee, coffee.
Why do I feel enslaved to you?
Who are you?
Why do I love you?
Why do you take up so much space in my mind?
Oh, coffee —
I wake up to you,
and I can’t fall asleep because of you.
How did you enter my life?
Do you really work,
or is this just something adults taught me to love?
Are you actually tasty,
or are you simply
a creation of my mind?
