chaque matin//d'habitude

I take my mornings scalded, like the milk I toss into boiled coffee, boiled tea, mine and yours, whose steam I'm scraping off the mirror so I can see well enough to shave, making sure that when the sunrise chill comes to bite, I can feel it.

Then, I'm waiting for the rainy bus, feeling my scalded fuzzy tongue, and through the fog your hot shower left on my eyes, I try and find your hand.