I Can't Believe It's August

Good morning, good writer.
Have your slumbers replenished the spent energies of the day previous?
Have your dreams inspired and excited from their auspicious space in your consciousness,
Where your thoughts and desires become known and apparent,
Although not so easy to accept?

The coffee is good, you think.
Dark.
A soothing comfort carried by a flashed and ashy cup.
Sipping with a mind that's far away.
Glazed eyes agaze,
On endeavors of the day.
Not here where it belongs, enjoying this cup of comfort.

I'll invite you back, if you'll come.
Even for a moment.
I appreciate you.
When you're here, life looks up.
Fills with jubilence and potential,
Explodes with wonder and content.
And when you're gone, it passes unnoticed,
A ship sailing through thick fog.

So as the crickets fiddle and the cicada voluminously buzz,
Know that they are longingly calling their lovers,
Yet to your ears a song was all it was.