Poetry

Morning coffee percolates

beneath my weary eyelids,

as my flesh angrily screams

for its daily stimulant;

scents of French Vanilla

permeate and freshen

the staleness of my kitchen.

Evaluations of the new day

will have to wait until my cup

has been completely emptied…

of its liquid gold.

 
 
Joseph J. Breunig 3rd
September 2012