Ah, the pleasure of simple things in the morning. This morning it*s the smoothness of the ceramic cup I bought years ago, the warmth of the hot coffee. It is even the two rough spots where the handle broke off when I dropped it on the floor.
It*s not so much the coffee,
Dark or light with cream,
As the warmth of my hands;
The smoothness of the cup;
The handle broken off
A few years ago;
My thumbs which find
The two rough spots
Top and bottom.
It*s not so much the coffee
As the cup,
Smooth cup,
The rough of the two places
The handle broke off
Years ago.
Smooth cup, warm hands.
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