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 kitchenβs 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.