Love was a cup of coffee,
hot and bitter and pungent;
it was excitement and relief;
it was our tour guide, our savior.
And we subsisted on it,
happily succumbing to addiction,
laughing when they called us addicts.
Caffeine is but chemical; coffee is more.
Then one day you set it atop the car
and drove off without a thought,
the mug teetering precarious
on every careless corner.
Our love is not waiting, my dear,
though it cools within reach,
every jolt and curve a cut closer
to its end, broken and abandoned.
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