Still working on the food themed poems, here is round two of Morning Coffee. Less threatening and more social this time I think. No pictures today, just re-ordered words, seeing how they fit in the new space.
My morning coffee is unsettled
with the obtuse imagery of sleep.
As I move a trail of dreams drifts to mingle
with steam from the espresso pot on the stove.
It is the morning cool, it is that time
when everyone is sleeping and the house is coffee,
toast and decadence. It is leftover Sunday papers
on a Tuesday morning when the sun is just teasing.
When the doors are open and joined to the window
by a breeze fresh with grass and last nights rain.
It's not waiting for the start, it's just a moment
until the scent of the morning kitchen draws
another drowsy searcher and the creaking
of the stairs brings the day alive with family.