lemon, a touch too artificial
sugar, a touch too sweet
in an owl painted mug, a touch too hot

that first sip hits like a memory
it drags with it the smell of coffee
black, no room
and the taste of your name
the sound of a coffee shop
of a donut shop
blood orange slices and citrus frosting and paper straws
soaked
soaking
disintegrating

the memory dissolves alongside the straw
and the back of my throat burns
at a touch too much