Small round table, white.
Black cups.
Coffee’s bittersweet savor.
Memory blurs both spoons and words.
Dead-leaf butterflies, dead leaves,
drift all year. We meet in spring,
one pull
tugging beauty loose.
Small round table, white.
Black cups.
Coffee’s bittersweet savor.
Memory blurs both spoons and words.
Dead-leaf butterflies, dead leaves,
drift all year. We meet in spring,
one pull
tugging beauty loose.
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