breakfast and poetry for one

there are small particles of hope
underneath the parched mugs
on the kitchen table

i have sat with her words
and deeds on leftover toast
where no scrapping was necessary

splayed in the butter dish
while the sugarbowl remains unsweetened
not sensitive to the shadow teeth
or the frail hands that never
reached into another’s nobleness

stir this beggar’s place pretty
this, is the word of her

sun bleaches the sounds
where delicate dreams slip
under the venetian blind

of slatted words, slender moments

fingers reach out
splintered along the white band
where the ring used to be
and hand was slapped.

heres to coffee, non burnt toast, and your mom (?)

lol not mom think this write is a bit mis-intrupted lol thanks for the read and comment

SKPCG : thank you though no tears needed this is about anothers nobleness and how inspite of My past I relunctedly reached out

sorry just woke up and wasn't done my coffee. (long night)

the hand that i raise to my lips and kiss

Awesome!