a small cup of coffee, clutched in my hands
dark and brown,
I would say
over coffee, I saw the world,
in soft contentment,
blurred thoughts,
warm feelings seeping into my bones
as coffee trickles down my throat
the bitterness that keeps spreading,
especially on mondays,
mostly afternoons
a long day ahead
words hidden in between lines of my poem
a blank canvas
painted with freshly brewed coffee
the emptiness inside,
the cold is settling in.
-magicworld77

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