the cup warms my hands,
juice of a sun
pulling me back from the drift
of screens, voices,
the blur of modern morning.

steam rises—
ghosts of forgotten forests,
whispering in brown swirls,
rich as earth after rain.

i drink,
and the pulse steadies—
an ember alive in the chest,
a song not yet lost
to the cold mechanics of the day.

i wish the taste would linger longer,
like the hush of tide
holding stones for a moment
before pulling them back,
grains scattering—
memory dissolving.

but for now,
there is warmth,
there is breath,
there is this small fire
to begin again.

Generating using new GPT : 'AP Freeverse Poetry Maker' which is instructed to use only my old poetry collections (many in the 'freeverse' poetry style, here in this publication) as the basis to explore or generate unique poems for any occasion.

Give it a try, yourself, and leave review, if you're on OpenAI.

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