You tried to count me in cups of coffee on Sunday Mornings
With each smile you added another spoonful of sugar
Every brush of my foot past your leg,
Another cream
But soon I turned into hard whisky
Straight out of the bottle on a Tuesday night
My stale, aged words stinging the tip of your tongue
Burning the back of your throat
Slowly warming you from the inside
Turns out I was never your cup of tea