The slow tapdance of your
fingertips on the coffee mug, impatient
for the ceramic to cool
just a few degrees more
so that you may clutch it tightly,
this favored vessel for
the beverage that reincarnates you
every morning –
your fingertips
settle
and yawn away,
settle
and yawn away,
begging the mug:
“Now?
"How about now?
"Please, now -
I am ready to awake.
- 
                        Author:    
     
	dandelion.drafts ( Offline) Offline)
- Published: July 5th, 2024 21:10
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: DeadRose

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