It’s Sunday morning; I don’t make the bed.
Somehow worn from an oversupply
of sleep, I feel empty and overfed

all at once. Should I eat or should I try
a second cup of coffee, or the tea?
I am too weary to decide and I

tire of this mush of humid luxury.
The night held promise but at dawn the dream
escapes and leaves this lonesome lethargy.

The kitchen is too warm to see the steam
and the coffee grows pale from too much cream.