Hungry After Breakfast

It’s the way she sips her coffee, lips pouting over a taste of steam. The mind is cool, yet my forehead sweats when she stirs that spoon in her cup. Our kitchen table has legs to stand, shakes rough noise from a tiled floor, on which we overwork together holding down to seal our squeaks. Prying morning comes through to peek the dining room. Filled with sunrise a stove that heats the eggs in pan has fried the bacon in sizzle. That nudge she hints, already she wants her afterglow repolished for brighter taste of pleasure, of which all night has made our day to blossom. copyright - 2008 Leon JW Also visit my poetry blog, thanks.