Bittersweet

I've come to love the bitter taste of coffee. A shift I've only recognized today living through the early afternoon of Paris. I confess I used to be a milk with a little "coffee" connoisseur. My mind attempts to trail this subtle and eased shift. Was it in London alongside the pouring droplets colliding with skin that no longer seemed to fit? Retracing, longing for the moments where I can pin the exactness of transformation. In vein it's never quite that simple, more often it's tepid. I in ignorance imagine arriving at a dramatic revelation of cosmic shifts. It arrives, plain. As a new fact of simple difference. Of course it's months until I notice this having coexisted alongside me quite some time. Watching; observing until I distinguished it. Like now as I peer up from the tasse in deep satisfaction. The little bite teasing the back of my tongue, letting me know of its existence. A taste of its birth, its weight. A sensual nature often experienced with displeasure. Knowledge that our senses are not only meant for indulged sweetness. The tongue's palette, akin to life's design created for a spectrum of experiences. Perhaps, Life's notes is the shift, the reward of infinite expression on living. Surrendering to a life that is alive and dynamic. Much like the receding note of coffee on my tongue