Second Breakfast
Published in
May 16, 2021
a poem
I said I was sorry
it was a lie.
I don’t feel bad
and I don’t know why
this bitter warmth in my mouth
makes me quicker
than your love ever could.
I am awakened
not by you pulling my hair
but by seeds,
ground,
then mixed with water:
sipped.
And I wonder
why the taste of your blood
is so similar
to coffee.
Justin Mark DeWolf 2021
