I dreamed of a coffeeshop

That does not exist

But it was still familiar,

A place that might be many places,

A place that is no place.

There was mysterious art on the walls,

Paintings I have seen before,

But paintings that do not exist.

The coffee was warm and rich

And filled me with its warmth.

It was every cup of coffee,

Filtered through my mind and served

In the blue-embossed Chinese porcelain of dreams.