My coffee is cold,  
But not the good kind—  
The bitter kind.  
I don’t want to warm it up.  
You said you’d make a fresh ***,  
But you left before I woke.

I could wait in the kitchen,  
But I can’t read your mind anymore.  
I can’t make you laugh anymore.  
I don’t make your coffee anymore.

You said "one and only,"  
But all it became was lonely.

Don't you notice the clouds  
Drifting by?  
Or has your coffee gone cold,  
Like mine?

I’ll finish mine  
And head out too,  
Humming:  
"Clouds in my coffee, and  
...You're so vain..."