Briar.
Orange tint, incarnadine.
My brewed tea of wizened, smoky hip,
Flavour. Delectation. Vitamin.
Briar.
At the punctured blood I sip,
Sampled pain of pickers' nimble hands.
Merciless, diminished tangerine.
Briar.
Hips and flanks which brushed off twigs,
Knobbly, gnawed, with stings of thorns embossed,
To put im my mug the bruising jinn.
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