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
it rings in my ears, trailing behind Freddie Mercury
crooning about how he doesn’t want to die
       i told you i didn’t want to die anymore that first night
and i pretend i don’t hear you singing along
i pretend you didn’t see me cry on the side of the road
       for two hours
i pretend i don’t miss the way you held my hand
i pretend
       i don’t
              miss
                     you