Coffee

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Our idea of love is
that of a half burnt coffee,
In that we don't yet know,
What are we supposed to do with it,
To drink it in or to puke it out.

Do we wait for it to cool down,
Or is it best taken hot?
So our tongues can't yet tell,
The sweet from the bitter.

Our idea of love is
that of a half burnt coffee,
In that we don't yet know,
If we'd ever get used to it,
To the burnt coffee, to the bitter tongue,
Or would we be left waiting,
In hope, that someone, someday,
would take the damn kettle out.

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