Dust Mote Ballet

[Verse 1]
The first sun thread, a hesitant pale stream,
Across the crumpled linen of a waking dream.
A coffee maker hums, a distant, quiet plea,
The only pulse with purpose, meant for only me.

[Chorus]
Dust motes dance on a liminal ray,
Another Sunday slipping away.
This gentle shift, a fragile, soft display,
Where quiet moments gently sway.

[Verse 2]
The London haze still softens the window's old pane,
A memory's echo in the coffee's dark stain.
Each shadowed fold, a vestige of the night,
Holding secrets whispered in the muted light.

[Chorus]
Dust motes dance on a liminal ray,
Another Sunday slipping away.
This gentle shift, a fragile, soft display,
Where quiet moments gently sway.

[Bridge]
What if the day outside held something more profound?
But here, in stillness, fragile truths are found.
A quiet pact with comfort, bittersweet and deep,
While city murmurs linger, just beyond my sleep.

[Outro]
The slow diffusion of morning, soft and low,
A gentle quiet, where the hours slowly flow.