morning coffee.
sometimes i write poetry on dishes.
text...
"this kind cup will fight the cold, warm in my hands like a small comforting campfire. It's lonely in the city (the cliches of coming-of-age movies and post-modern literature come alive in my mouth now that I take a subway) so I need this morning kiss. A heated long greeting to my lips, my eyes closed, tasting the familiar sweetness that is there for me without question every morning. Holding to my chest, I crave this scent each morning. I know it from all angles, like the intimacy of knowing how your lover smells when he wakes"
text...
"this kind cup will fight the cold, warm in my hands like a small comforting campfire. It's lonely in the city (the cliches of coming-of-age movies and post-modern literature come alive in my mouth now that I take a subway) so I need this morning kiss. A heated long greeting to my lips, my eyes closed, tasting the familiar sweetness that is there for me without question every morning. Holding to my chest, I crave this scent each morning. I know it from all angles, like the intimacy of knowing how your lover smells when he wakes"