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Rated: E · Poetry · Food/Cooking · #1383581
That dark black liquid that is so important

How I love the morning

When that first fresh scent floods the air

Making my thoughts soaring for its delight

As I sit and wait, just silently waiting there

Watching the black brew fill the pot

Waiting expectantly to drop the divine essence into my cup.

To taste again the sharp almost bitter flavour

That flavour that exists even in my thought

It raises my feeling, the very beat of my heart

The smell, the flavour…  all combined together

For centuries man has waited, waited,

Waited over and over for this very moment

Pouring the dark substance into my cup

Raising it to my lips and once again

To taste the liquid of my addiction
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