Secrets Crumbling Like Biscuits Dipped

White foam crashes with memories of conversations here, an awful date there; welcoming steam floats around work deadlines, lecture notes and scrawls. Cupped hands warm around porcelain gossips with friends, secrets crumbling like biscuits dipped, as thoughts are awash with scents from a city café then and a train station dash back when. That brown bitter liquor lazing - regal, rustic, the foreign familiar that can cleanse chaotic hours had. “I’m sorry I complained. I just like it made a certain way.” - breath by breath and sip by sip, clink by clink and stir by stir - but what I really meant was, well... “I come here for the company of strangers. The whirring of machines and the babble and the bustle of a place, less empty than home.”