Oh, cruel morning… you are a bitch to me.
Heartless, recurrent, soul-sucking whore.
You murder the best of dreams, the most comfortable of positions.
You care not for the gentle cold side of the pillow.
Stumbling, stumbling, swollen eyes and puffy fingers
Make their way through the motions of a ritual
Religious in nature
Dear to the heart
Automatic in nature
Aromatic oils float through the air
Drifting to offended nostrils awakened by a siren,
Nay, not a Siren’s song
Sweet cream and sugar softening the offense of the slut that is morning
Bitter, dark gold
Valuable beyond diamonds, rubies, sapphires
Perfect with bagels in their carbohydrated saltiness
Perfect with doughnuts in their doughy sweetness
Delectable with coffee cake, mates in breakfast, dessert, and tea parties
Coffee… making morning worthwhile.