Real butter, melting on my multi-grain toast <br />with apricot jam, spread thickly. <br /> <br />Cold, ivory cream in my fresh, hot coffee <br />with a teaspoon of sugar, stirred. <br /> <br />Glasses sliding low on the bridge of my nose, <br />Sunday paper ready to go. <br /> <br />What more can I ask for on this, my morning, <br />considering she had packed up <br /> <br />and left me late, last night. <br /> <br />Mike Acker<br /><br />Mike Acker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunday-mourning/
