Bliss

The Rain. It trickles down my window seal.
It rushes to the ground, doing a cannon- ball on the blades of grass.
The Coffee. The smell inpermiates my nose,
making me inhale deeply,
enjoying its strong aroma. 
The Book. It calls to me from across the room.
Wanting me to flip its crisp pages
as if I was the wind, turning over pages like they were crunchy fall leaves. 
The Blanket. Warm, it protects me from the attacking cold,
drifting though the bone- shaking breeze just outside my cozy walls. 
The Smile. A smile forms on my face as all my problems fall away
like rain-drops from the sky.
The Bliss. 

This poem is about: 
Me

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