Bright white sugar can
old and rusted,
but still a man,
standing the test of time.
Tough to open
tougher to close...
rotted out inside,
or is it so?
Let me cleanse the
tarnished trenches,
fill with the sweetness
it so long desires.
The purist of cane,
natures choices, everlasting.
Everlasting.
2 Comments:
this poem is sweet like molasses and pure like amphetamine. i LOVE it. your images are exquisite Deemer!
i also thought it was very warm.
lovely
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