Oh sweet nectar of the morn, in simmering ***, thy bitter savor born,
From depths of slumber I am drawn, to bold aromas, dark and rich.

Pulled up, outside of sleeps embrace, not quickly, at a gentle pace,
And brought along till fully woken, with that single word so sweetly spoken…

““Coffee…”

Awake, but in that pleasant daze, that warm, relaxing, dream like phase,
When bed is softer than a cloud, the house so quiet, it’s almost loud.

Pause for effect…

And then a knock on oaken door, a    gentle rap, moments before,
The **** is turned, and with a whine, the door glides open, just in time!
For she has brought me coffee…

A sip is like a gentle kiss, the warmest, realist, sweetest bliss,
Spread through my soul, and lifts me higher, pulled up by some cosmic wire,
Far above the highest spire, past our stars tormented fire,
Far beyond basic desire, serounded by angelic quire, Strumming harp and plucking lyre!

Little excessive…