The Warmth On My Lips

Silver fingertips gliding, gently grasping

Silky water, clanking

Smoke, billowing from the stove top with forgotten dinner leftovers

Gentle grasps turned to firm comfort as the water fills my kettle

Sizzle, sizzle

Droplets letting their escape be known

Coffee grounds, crunching beneath its lid

Aroma, cascading towards my nose like a waterfall turned upside down

One spoon, two spoon

Three spoons, four

Add a little extra but not much more

Whistle, clearing the air with its poignant sound

Ritual, steady flow from kettle to grounds

Strength, exerts the aroma

This cup, no

That mug, yes

Steady hands, quiet thoughts

Yes, this mug will do

Finger shafts effortlessly gripping formed clay

Cool surfaces turned tedious as the potion pours in

Wake me, inspire me, keep my mornings safe

Slurps, elegance where there rarely is any

Yes, keep my mornings under key

Steam, enough to grasp with your chest

Steam, enough to disappear in the fog’s morning

Warmth, washing the days before off my lips

Lost, but found each morning in ritual