Coffee stain

Somebody's brother's coffee dregs
Made me think of  my coffee stain
That would disappear with a look
And wipe with own industriousness
And  no mused maths on the table.

That is how their stories are made
Now mine, including my coffee stain
On a table that would go with water.
Our stories are made not by  stains
Left by coffees that hold memories
But by brothers now gone for good.

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