deepundergroundpoetry.com
Morning Magic
dull-yellow, squared
numbers flicker into
focus
ten past seven~
way too early
again
a single moment
spent in blissful clarity
where I still allow myself
to see you and I as
you and I,
before my thoughts
realize my eyes are awake
and it is drowned, choking
on fear and resentment
I’m awake, I’m awake already
groaning in defeat
although I beat the alarm
by three full hours,
I roll over and begin
another day inside the frame;
a thousand small spells
taking the form of rituals,
yet looking a lot
like habituals
(cast upon intention
all the same)
shhhhh, best not to notice
my arms dance sweetly
in the air of the kitchen
as I bless the space
with gratitude
and midnight
Nag Champa,
opening blinds
waiting for coffee
numbers flicker into
focus
ten past seven~
way too early
again
a single moment
spent in blissful clarity
where I still allow myself
to see you and I as
you and I,
before my thoughts
realize my eyes are awake
and it is drowned, choking
on fear and resentment
I’m awake, I’m awake already
groaning in defeat
although I beat the alarm
by three full hours,
I roll over and begin
another day inside the frame;
a thousand small spells
taking the form of rituals,
yet looking a lot
like habituals
(cast upon intention
all the same)
shhhhh, best not to notice
my arms dance sweetly
in the air of the kitchen
as I bless the space
with gratitude
and midnight
Nag Champa,
opening blinds
waiting for coffee
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