By Sammy Ginsberg
coffee shop called syrups
that only serves waffles and crepes and ice cream,
i want to live here,
in your black comfy chairs
surrounded by red and green french presses,
and ceramic coffee cups that say,
"I am not a paper cup"
I wish you were my life,
full of sweet and discussion and raspberry infused water,
a place to meet and drink and be,
to reflect, to dissect, to forget and mull.
But, lets be honest,
I am not a coffee shop,
I am a B rated breakfast place,
the meal that everyone needs but no one wants,
the orange juice that has secretly been in the fridge for months,
but since it's January and you want fresh orange juice,
I'm fresh.
People dip their toast in my heart of egg yolk
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