two years, eleven months, seventeen days

the black stains
of morning coffee
on a white tablecloth

others prefer fortune telling
with coffee grounds
but i believe in vapour
& its aerial butoh dance
above the cup’s abyss

forbearance sucks
& gravitas falls
on the white tablecloth

i see bare, broken twigs
against a blue sky
will this coffee be the only darkness
that fills me today
i take a sip, open my news feed

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2025

17 thoughts on “two years, eleven months, seventeen days

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