Morning Verse – a poem

The morning makes me reckless
with the smell of coffee curling
through my veins in electric
tendrils,
and the pen betwixt my fingertips
shooting feelers through my brain,
and a single dying star
burning in the dawn-green
East.
The morning makes me restless
with the promise of the day
and the breath of open windows
and the smooth relief of
ink;
so in the morning, like a child
celebrating life
I turn my words in dances.

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