I stir the words left unsaid into my coffee.
The morning is a cube of ice,
It is buoyant and cold when unravelled.
My coffee repels sleep the way ambrosia rebuts mortality.
I place my cup on the table composed of ancient wood,
This morning is embellished by a chorus of birds.
A mist reminiscent of midnight rain embraces the morning,
I drink my coffee,
It is as warm as a winter puddle.
I empty the sun-light stained vessel,
The morning is honey that catches a fly.
Aspen Duscha is a poet who currently lives in the United States of America with a friend. In addition to writing poetry Aspen also loves drinking coffee. They have work published in Plum Tree Tavern and Marias at Sampaguitias. Aspen also has work forthcoming in Leaves of Ink.