Is it the coffee we profess to hold so dear? Is it the spot where we work the coffee magic? Could it be the particualrly peculiar way in which we work said magic? Is it the ideal of some oft forgotten lore?

the proposal of my lips is this:

To coffee do we owe our love.

To CoffeeLove above all else.

Comrades, Baristas, Countrymen!
lend me your ears
throw down your eyes
and see the Coffee that we love
it cries out for your hand…
do you cry out for it in return?