Now, it's Friday.
I came for coffee to water my deep heart.
Now, it's Friday.
And my hands still hurt from Monday, Tuesday.
But a cup of coffee is a big brown eye that looks at anyone.
Where is the door that opens like a hug?
When you're always alone at night, there are the stars.
The sky is a plate of salt. And you wait, growing hard
like a loaf of bread.