I spend my morning,
Sipping coffee (no surprise there),
gnawing breakfast (in bed),
while reading poetry.
It is still.
As I scroll seeds
Of insight from others' experiences,
Vulnerabilities and creativity.
I could be in Paris or Milan,
Or in the Kimberleys;
I am transported with each line.
Inspiration poured into mine
soul. I feel I've lived a thousand lives
With every verse believed.
Relieved though, I'm safe at home,
And the life I'm walking is my own.
How many of my poems feature coffee?! I must write a poetry book to go on my coffee table!