Morning (a poem)

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I was sitting at breakfast, 

my head full,

cotton and long forgotten dreams, 

stuffed to the seams… only showing in the dulling

sunlit morning.  

I pulled blankets of coffee 

down my throat, 

like snow has become 

              winter’s frozen alabaster coat…

Squeezing five more minutes 

out of repine and of rest…

I think I like my evenings the best. 

I burned my mouth a time or two 

stewing over teeming cups, my coffee black

my words catching in my teeth…

it’s hard to find our way back (sometimes)

from the time we wished we’d cherished more.  

I always seem to find closed doors 

dragging my feet on this dirty floor 

i’m helplessly cold in fact. 

But with the sunlight, my composure 

and my fight 

breaks a resolution in my stubborn roots

scuffing my boots, I pull on the day 

and pray the evening 

                 she takes me back

again.  

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