Don’t take this strong
black coffee
from us—the ones
who have fallen
from branches,
the ones who land
on our feet, the ones
who count bruises
as little blue blessings
about to bloom,
the ones who may become
overripe. We’ve been so dry—
don’t take away this thirst.
Small, but striking poem. “little blue blessings” my favorite line!
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Thanks.
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