having a cup of strong coffee as I type.
this is all I live for.

not even live for,
exactly. I exist for this. I make up
for all my faults, small or large, grievous
or trivial, even the imaginary ones,
this way.

if you approve
of this way of life — this shunning
of brave face, this jaw lightly open
until I shut it tight — with there
being a purpose behind it, however small
and trivial —

you can clap, you can
shower me with kisses or one good
slap on the back and heartful
congratulations — you can go for it
and I won’t mind because

today I’m like any bug
landing here for a moment:
anonymous for a brief second
but memorable.

like the taste
of a good cup of coffee,

lasting until I wash off
or am rinsed away.