Will my death be the colour of coffee?

I look into my coffee and wonder;

how many more years I have to gaze

at my nostrils and the edge of my face,

framed by a few barley-coloured hairs,

dribbling into my reflection.

​

Will my Death be the colour of coffee?

A rich dark black,
almost inky,

almost satin like,

but not quite-

​

Dark and still

like a universe without stars.

As though something bigger than us

had picked them out like candy
and eaten them like mints.

​

I don't want to live in a star-less,

senseless void.

I need the solar system to surround me-

in all her jewels and velvets.

​

When I was a child and I was afraid,
I used to gather my teddies around me.

What if I have a Nightmare?

And jolt awake,
peering into the thick Dark.
I will be alone.

​

My planets will not be there to comfort me-

My coffee,
has gone cold.