are
two ways I feel every morning—
neither
pleasant nor—unpleasant
in particular;
dry and a little
desiccated,
but in no hurry to meet with
the plain
banality of steam.
Then—always
at a pace—the two
become mixed together, and
I taste the whole place—
the entire universe;
and my throat
ripens—agreeable to the tang
and grateful—for the sting
of hot brown water.
and my throat
ripens—agreeable to the tang
and grateful—for the sting
of hot brown water.
