The gentle ins and outs of sleeping breath
Spin off course, out of reach of embracing sheets
As morning breaks open on tangled limbs,
A twisted un-choreographed mess.
Weaving a crooked trail down the too-straight hall,
Ten toes take a tripping routine,
Attached to unmetered beats
Soft padding drum hits
Feebly tumbling across the shined wood.
The still sleeping glow of light
Pressing through the window glass
A spotlight for the kitchen’s stage,
A lone performer improvises unsteady forms.
But the subtle crunch of scooping grounds,
Like the shivered shake of the tambourine,
Catches the wavering rhythm up
To the steady plopping drip,
To the upward bending tone of the cascading pour
Drum-rolling up and up and up to
The ecstatically sighing high note of that first sip.
And the scent, like deep purple, wafts
Filling the room with thick unseen swirls
All at once heavy and weightless, landing on skin
Like a light breeze without force and only depth.
Pressing against the lungs from within them,
Persistently full, yet buoyant.
And as the warmth spreads behind the lungs
A small twitch of the hip courses to the flick of a toe
And from every fingertip pumps into ignition
Fluid joyful movements.
Hot energy flows through veins,
Fearlessly leading through tough turns and twists.
And morning has only just begun.