the openness of a morning

without pressure

i lay my head on your soft lap — 

repeat a mantra of patience — 

urge myself to be centered — 

spring up and mumble about having to work on something run away and intentionally don’t turn around to see your dejection

stare at my computer screen

frozen by regret in the present moment

now on my cold lap sits a laptop and cup of coffee

things that can remain warm for a few hours and few minutes, respectively

i am perfectly centered 

and i smash my head through the computer screen in a show of my enlightenment 

and to mimick your soft lap

pixels mutilate my face 

something isnt quite right