Poetry 16, 2014

Morning

When I wake up,
my mouth
is cracked and dry;
the hour is
a thermometer
under my tongue,
and I can’t quite
spit the sun from
between my teeth.

———
Prompt: Do you find it difficult to express one sense (sight, hearing, taste, smell, touch) more than others in your writing? Paying special attention to that often ignored sense, write a poem with exaggerated sensory detail. NaPoWriMo

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