In my hands you were like a Polaroid picture. I was almost fearful of how you’d come out. I shook you, gently. And then, I stirred you. I looked at you with trepidation, because espresso isn’t always my thing. But that was momentary, once pressed plums rolled down the back of this silver spoon, onto my tongue that’s often punched by espresso.
But, you didn’t shove me around. You were straightforward, intense and clean. I liked that; I liked knowing where you stood. If individuality had a feeling, you were it, dressing yourself in flavors somewhere between purple plums, juicy enough to be juiced in the palm of my hands, yet smooth, like a talker, gracing your words with morsels of milk chocolate.
I’m still on the edge and it’s not so scary at all.
Coffee Shop: The French Block Cafe
Coffee: Coperaco, and a blend created by TFBC owners