A poem for September

Coffee

My one and only vice, it tastes like black spice

a steaming cup of darkness

it wakes up my brain, tastes better than champagne

it's energy and zest harnessed.


Dark roasted beans, filled with lively caffeine

I swear it helps my profession

to share with good friends, my sanity depends

on one little cup of obsession.


It's the first thing I taste, I drink it with haste

it quickly ceases my yawning

sometimes with whipped cream, and swirls of hot steam

all night I wait for the morning.

More soon, 

C.C.

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