A Token of His Love

The day there was no coffee

The Qwiet Muse

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When the night is long
and sleep eludes me
I think of you
until the solace
of slumber
transforms thought
into dream.

I drift within illusion
until I know you’re
by my side,
and I wake
to drink you in.

Your warmth enlivens me,
your taste lingers sweet
upon my lips,
awakening my senses,
stirring my soul,
leaving me longing
for more,
and always,
always, I rise
to pour myself
another cup . . .

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My husband loves me. I know this because he brings me coffee every morning. Over the years, I have come to equate this sweet gesture with love. It may simply be nothing more than a desire to keep me from going into caffeine withdrawals, which he would then have to deal with he comes home after a hard days work, but I prefer to think of it as a sign of his undying love and…

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