Morning Joy

Morning Joy

I hear the percolating,

Piping and whistling;

Singing for me

Promises of bittersweet possibility.

I smell the aroma.

It’s deep bite bores into memory,

Reminding me of Christmas eves

And my grandfather’s tobacco.

I touch the cool porcelain handle

Of my largest mug,

The one where lovers from another era

Gaze eternity into each other’s eyes.

I see the blackened murky richness,

Swirling in streaky artistry

With the thick snowy cream

I pour with leisurely calculation.

I taste my concoction,

Sipping and lapping tentatively

For fear of burning my tongue.

I devour my morning’s joy.