LANDAY FOR AUGUST

A cup of coffee in the dawn’s race to day, 
It warms my dreaming hands, my eyes catch sun’s first ray.

Bitter meets the cream, 
A storm brews at the horizon of my soul 
Energy’s purpose unleashed.

More please. Aromatic waves, 
Barista’s art in the paper cup, a lid keeps in a 
Tornado of taste.

Later each hot sip begins as delight, but
Fake cream half-clouds coffee’s growing caustic bite.