Although sugar-mixed or cream-stirred

It will always be black for me

As black as a moonbeams-less sky.

Serve it hot, cold, or in-between

It will always be black, particularly mine

Black as the darkness of the night

Sans stars and the milky way.

No matter how you stir it

And make an eddy

It’s still black, a whirlpool-black

Like a muddied, stagnant canal.

In a mug, or in a cup,

Brewed, or instant, or 2 in a 1

It’s black

Similar to a beclouded sky, with a brewing storm.

In a sip, in a gulp

Whether it’s bittersweet or honeyed or nectar-ed

Or bitter-creamed or milky

It will always be black

Such as a darken tunnel with no sight

of a light at the end.

It will always be black

Ergo, make mine a black, sweet-black

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