Heavenly

Tappy tap tap on the keyboard she went, it was only 5:41.
Of my coffee, I hadn’t even taken a sip, the day had barely begun.
Still in a sleepy stupor I was, my hair a perfect bird’s nest;
And cracking granite flakes from my eyes; an inverse gargoyle I was I guess.
So early still, her words roll off, as if she is speaking in a muted song.
So, when she asks “Wha cha up to today?” it’s as if she just wrote a sonnet.
And before my witty retort comes out, saying “Still around 5’7”.
I consider before God Himself, are you sure this isn’t heaven?