~
She leans over the sink
weight on her toes
to applied lipstick
in quick certain strokes,
the way a man signs
his hundredth signature
of the morning.

With lips of convictionless curvature
as the lipstick retracted like a red eel
all day she left her mark
on everything she kissed.
Even the air remarks
like intoxicating news
whispered from ear to ear.
~

trees are changing their robes;
on misty mornings
I am sitting on my porch.
a book  
I've found in a vintage bookstore
at the corner of my street
is lying in my lap

drinking a tea
wrapped into my favorite blanket
and watching my neighbors
carving their pumpkins

smelling the scent
of firewood
while also listening to
Frank Sinatra

autumn, oh autumn
where have you been?

As you sit down the porch
you feel the waking warmth
of the vessel on your palms

Your eyes are still blurry
barely drawing vaporized spirits
An aroma pierces
through your sense of smell
to the brain;
like the sun's rays
slowly melting the clouds
painting a promising sky

Then comes the first taste;
your body heats up
heart roaring faster
like a machine
getting ready for action,

and at the last gulp
you slowly hang your feet
to another seat
as you begin to depart
from your dream state
to a bittersweet reality.

"This is what I'm going to do today."

The greeting of
a morning coffee.