Cold coffee.
Brown.
But brown isn’t really
Cold coffee.
Tepid and minor,
White sliver swirls
Slowly caressing the
Milky hazelnut brew
Concocted for the witch
Or woman
At table 8.

A quarter cup left
Of the 12oz pleasure portal
Or just a hit or fix
Hot beating heart shaker
Soothing, steaming, black
Cream laden
Laced with sweet hints
Of bitterness.
Cocoa. She can detect.
Cooled by the hands
Of the clock
Ticking
As I burn my finger
At 12:02pm.

An onward we go.
Pulsating in time
Moving with fervor
Motion intoxicating
Spinning gently
To the rhythm
Of a to-do list
Never ending.

Burnt mahogany softened
With pale pastel
Honey Cream.

Cold coffee
In a cheap white mug