the heart is such a wasteland

The first sip of my morning coffee is always such a surprise.  Sometimes it tastes like shit no matter how
wonderful the brewing scent of French roast mixed with a little amoretto or hazelnut.  I had considered it
must be mercury in retrograde, or the way I slept in my bed.  Even if there is only one side I ever use to go
on or off.   And it is definitely as comfortable as any feathered nest, if I were a bird, that is.  Thick
down comforter, and heavy faux fur cover.  My bedroom is rich in textures, irridescent brown taffeta, silk,
and pearl accents throughout.  Wedgewood blue accent wall. 

I like the sound of rain best when it hits  the roof vents, a sort of humming sound and there's nothing like the
icy snow against my window.  I've awakened to many a sunrise streaming in like a lover's touch against my
cheek.  But winter nights are long and my body doesn't need that much sleep. 

I don't need much of anything except someone's arms to cradle me, gently.