Writing

This is what I ended up submitting in class this morning, but it doesn't feel finished.

I remember the sound of coffee before the smell.
More soft-spoken than its flavor
Erratic sifting through the filter
Beckoning through dust and dreams and from within my pillowcase
Good morning.
Stir awake and stir "hello"
I stir cubes of Domino and too much store-brand creamer into one chipped China mug
Concentrically intoning the icebreaker between me and this alarm clock that rivals rain
And this morning, She levels her gaze through ceramic, saying
Beware of artificial sweetness.
Because tastebuds and heartstrings are easily deceived,
not recognizing sweetness as a mask for something else
And unable to discern without first cultivating sophisticated tastes for things more bitter.
You wouldn’t trust your judgment without a double-take
Nor would you move forward claiming to be sure based only on a feeling
Would you?
Why then, upon first meeting, would you believe sweetness to be something’s actual taste?
In my time, I’ve learned to question the artifice of sugar and honey,
Who take advantage and presume the last laugh,
And iron woven threads of deceit like the fallacy of fondant to smooth over imperfections.

But I, who lauded “Disney princess” a life calling,
am desensitized by Gene Wilder’s flunkies who preach in choirs bearing technicolor monosaccharides,
cannot pronounce “aspartame” and confuse my Flinstone vitamins with other things high in high fructose corn syrup,
I, who won’t keep count of betrayals and misunderstandings, no matter the enticing or revelatory flavor,
Trust persistently and
Have nothing to fear of artificial
sweeteners