I woke up at five am

only to journal and walk and coffee and journal again

(the second time with John Mayer)

writing two things:

one poem

about broken promises

that needs a rewrite for a happier ending

(my heart and my readers agree)

one ridiculously rough pre-first draft of a

humorous epistolic-essay-love letter

(it can’t make up its mind what it wants to be when

it grows up into a second, third,

final draft before being

submitted for editorial consideration)

about dating toilets.

If there is a better way

to spend a summer morning

I haven’t discovered it yet.

Nor do I want to.

…

Image courtesy of Pexels from Pixabay