Winter Solstice
10 a.m. is a seldom cry
wisped away in autumnal riverbanks,
left for the ripples to ease.
Yet, solstice holds dear
to mornings come and past—
The fog is soon to clear.
Burnt Coffee
Today, burnt coffee
clung to the back of
my throat. A bitter
epilogue of your
sweetness.
Today, tears patter
into empty china
cups; moon-drenched
lyrics shakily
forgotten. Today is a
reminder of our last.
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