Coffee High

A rose. Delicate. Strong.

Symbolic.

As I dive–or fall?–into this vat of… roses?

I no longer know–I lose myself. Or find myself?

There are no thorns.

They’re lovely.

Yet I still fall…

Dive?

It’s sometimes all-consuming.

I miss the contortion high of caffeine. But it was never mine to miss.

Or was it?

Oh to know the beyond. To know the roses. To know if they are eternal. To know if their sweet scent are for my nostrils.

Or if that even matters.

Oh… to know.

Oh to know if the thornless roses are mine. Oh to know if there’s a bed of roses at the end of this drop.