morning tea

Sometimes,
it’s too hard to wake from a dream,

when its taste,
lingers in your mouth
so long,

that your toothpaste doesn’t taste the same
and your morning tea,
gets this wild, forgotten flavor,
for a moment,

when the grass you slept on,
in your dream,
is so fragrant that when you wake,
for a moment,
you can smell it on your pillow,

and you wonder,
for a moment,
why everything
is so gorgeously Green
for a moment,

when the kiss is so sweet,
that when you wash your face,
for a moment
your regretful eyes,
with an inexplicable anger,
and a childish grudge,
follow the water,
who’s washed away the taste of the kiss
from your lips
down to the drain,

when the smoothness of the skin,
under your soft, feathery touch
has spoiled your hands so much,
that the roughness of your wet, silk scarf,
can seriously hurt your hand….
and sometimes it does,
for a moment,

it’s too hard to wake,

not harder than keep up, for sure,
with the fucking alarm of the cell phone,
6:30 sharp, on a cold snowy Sunday,
that passes through your pillow
you’re desperately pressing on your face!

and neglecting the begging of your poor bladder,
bursting with champagne and scotch,

but harder than most of things
in life,
which are harder
than living,

though waking up
is the worst part of a dream,
but the best part of being awake,
is you can end up,
with a dream,
Sometimes…

and when the dream’s gone,
in a moment,
life would be so darn great
again,

Sometimes,