Poetry · Writing

Lukewarm

I don’t love for lukewarm.
I stare for the steam to be raising from the pot whistling my name.

If it doesn’t whistle it’s not for you.

The whistle is how I know it will burn. Don’t conform

Wait for the storm 

and you’ll be reborn.

The slight breath of a timid one will settle

while we catch the perfect storm.

2 thoughts on “Lukewarm

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