Morning

My lips pressing against the rim, smeared with coffee. Strong and dark. I take it that way in the morning, to drown the dream I had about you last night.

My fingers pressed against the mug, still bewildered. Not touching your fingertips cold. Cold like the chilling morning air.Hoping it will extinguish the fire you set to my soul.

My thoughts still wandering in your lanes. Lost within the smell of lavender and tangled sheets.

My eyes still hazy from the fog, and the darkness beneath them screams another story.Pricked by a flower's touch I come back to the day.

But I couldn't wish my neighbour good morning. Wishing someday I'll say it again.