Morning

My poem doesn't rhyme; doesn't fit, just flows

Words flooded with style, filled with life.

Sitting on the porch; looking out to passersby and faces, rushed and late for work. I'm drinking thoughts, hot and sweetened with too much sugar - If i'd just could savour it, a single moment in time, just one - When a women brushed my leg, walking past... She smiles, and apologizes with a word. She smiles and then, tastes my eyes.