The best thing about the morning was a crumble of cheese
Leftover from sprinkling on salad the night before.

There it sat unseen,

Until in frustration avalanching and coffee computer reposed,
She spied it on the big butcher block:

Little gravely goodness.

She plucked it up with her fingers,
Scraping it under her nails and plying it into her mouth

Over chapped lips,

Danging and damning the ethereal tech gods
Who thwarted downloading a map of Tokyo.

She paused,

Savoring the blue cave mettle
Between palate and tongue.

And then it was gone.