To love you in past tense—
how our past still feels tense.
Lips trembling before the first sip;
your body: dark roast, a slow
bitterness melting beneath heat.

I let you steep through every late-night
thought; your name lingering
like coffee breathed slowly
through tired lungs.

Brown sugar skin. 
Cream-soft laughter.
You stir my chest in
slow circles of want.

Empty cups crowd my table;
yet your cups still overflow
inside my mind.

Maybe love tastes better black—
still, the first taste of you
stayed thick; foam lingering
on my lips.