morning: my least favourite time
of day, is made not so bad by
a slice of buttered toast and a
black coffee.
morning: when my hair is a mess and
my sheets cling to my damp
skin, is made not so unhappy
by the sunlight spilling in.
morning: when my eyelids are
heavy and i’m too tired to speak,
when my lips are dry and my
thoughts are static;
i think i’ll put the kettle on, and
sink into the day: slowly, slowly,
slowly, so that the hours trickle
away.
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 6:09 AM UTC
morning: my least favourite time
of day, is made not so bad by
a slice of buttered toast and a
black coffee.
morning: when my hair is a mess and
my sheets cling to my damp
skin, is made not so unhappy
by the sunlight spilling in.
morning: when my eyelids are
heavy and i’m too tired to speak,
when my lips are dry and my
thoughts are static;
i think i’ll put the kettle on, and
sink into the day: slowly, slowly,
slowly, so that the hours trickle
away.
Request permission to use this poem