My idea of a good morning is at six AM
when two cases of fettuccine alfredo,
captured by the gravity of this planet,
dive for the white speckled tile.
Trying to **** me.
Glass, alfredo, smell of cheap pasta in the air.
I look around
sigh
delicately begin to pick up glass.
Tiny shards make my skin their home.
My leather boots have never encountered such a substance.
Oh fettuccine, sweet fettuccine
I will never consume again.