A rich, amethyst bubble
Bursts upon the tongue,
Purple liquid trickling down our lips,
And we’re in broken sunlight…
Under a sparse tree,
That screens the coffee
On the benches
Near the CC canteen…
Gathered twigs, leaves and flowers on the table,
Giving company to the coffee,
Cameras lying unattended,
Bags strewn on the bench…
Others look in wonder,
At the people under the tree,
Unlike any other…
With jam-packed mouths
Of berry-gore,
Flecked with mauve,
We are oblivious to the rest…
And…the coffee waits…
Mulberry times live on…
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