when i wake in a fog
with the world at a slant
i fall to the ground
up seeds of a plant
which i boil and brew
steam velvety soft
cloud of milk in the cup
unfolds like a cloth
to bathe my brain
in warm wakefulness
slowly the haze slides away
with a kiss
replaced by a bitter-sweet
taste on my tongue
and a rhythm in my blood
from the sun like a drum
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