That familiar taste, commonplace. Each morning anticipation, your psyche awakens to the sound or sight. Beyond daylight, end of night; always slow until you break your fast. Delightful steam, a fresh brew, nothing stands between certain pleasure and you. Some days it is the coffee. Some days it is the quiet. Many days you are in a rush, yet always find time for the morning cup.
04/08/2019 j.g.l.
APRIL IS POETRY MONTH fresh poetry served every day
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