Morning Coffee

I've written under different pseudonyms. Each branching off to form their own persona and identity, and finally merging, called themselves Issaras. just thought I'd share that here.

Morning Coffee

4 AM.
There is no sun, no greying to dawn.
I have not been alone in the night.

The morning brings an icy chill.

I am warm, irrespective
Of the frigid temperature.
I lie, a moment, basking.

Afterglow of sweet dreams ... gossamer.

Formless, but tangible in my nose and mouth.
Substantial, hot on my flesh.

Lips, tongue pressed passionately
against my neck… my inner thigh
Evoke a shiver. My abdomen tightens.

A smile, wistful, I sit up,
Swing my legs from tangled sheets.
I smell coffee.

9 AM.
I am not quite frozen.
Toes ache, bitter, trapped.

Steel-toed boots hard and ungiving.

Work is frantic.
The hurry, on toward escape inside.
Fuel heat entices. Drives to the aching.

Diaphanous lips,
A butterfly’s wings against my right temple.
Pressure, a hand at the small of my back.

She loves me from a distance.
I work now, unconscious of strain.
I pause mid-work.

A voice, a hushed sigh in my right ear.
She calls me, “Angel.”
I smell coffee.

10 AM.
Late morning sun breaks through sharp chill,
Blankets the earth with muted warmth.

The ache of thawing feet abates.

A grievous chore is made bearable.
Sun kisses my face,
Warms my flesh with gentle breaths.

Memory –soft lips,
A trail of fingers down my spine.
I shiver, heated.

I say her name.
Let the wind catch it,
Voyage it away.

Does she pause in work,
Arched-browed, knowing and amused,
And whisper, “yes?”

My heart hammers. I laugh. Silly notion.
That she can hear me,
or subsists distinct of whimsy.

Morning chores fulfilled,
I leave the cold –step into the warmth.
I smell Coffee.
-ISSARAS