Fog
settles on drooped glasses.
Wrists slumped holding
coffee as if it were
the last thing you'd take from a burning building.

Eyes
drain out the morning window,
at a scene as it were,
unsure.

Too hot
to touch, standing
in the rain, my lips,
kissing the rim,
drearily parted.

Condensing on the palate,
brewed darker than intended.