Like It’s My Last
Alarm loud enough to wake the dead.
Need to wake to join the living again
Sluggishly climbing out of my bed to embrace the tasks of today
Feet hitting the cold floor, the chill forcing me to be attentive.
Shuffling across the cold floor to the kitchen, my morning coffee calling to me just like a siren's song.
Yawning, I blink the sleep away for another day.
Watching the machine
Coffee slowly brews with a steady, drip…drip…drip.
Patiently waiting, I get my favorite mug
Sugar and cream awaiting the boiling hot coffee, just enough cream to turn black to an autumn caramel.
I pour the steaming coffee into my mug and relish in the smell of the bold fresh coffee with its hint of nuttiness.
First thing in the morning, it’s like water after a walk in the desert.
Closing my eyes, I take it in;
Steam tumbling off, I lift the mug to my lips. With a slight blow, I take the first sip.
The sip tastes like perfection, almost making a moan slip past my lips.
Sitting in silence, I drain every last drop of my coffee as if it will be my last.
But who’s to say this should be my last.
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