poetry

Morning Ritual

In the cold morning,

I step into the shower,

worshipping the warm water

as it trickles down my skin.

I raise my hand to its source

and close my eyes,

feeling heat flow

in lines, healing

the frigid feeling,

exorcising it from my limbs.

My blood pumps with life

renewed, as I wake up

and truly open my eyes.

 

When I am clean,

I turn off the water,

wrap myself in a towel.

Though the cold air

presses on me,

I am not chilled

like I was before.

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