Five minutes ago,
I took my first, my last, gulp of this coffee.
It was hot, very hot.
As my tongue whimpered, my lips went numb
Instinct, “SPIT IT OUT!”
But years of proper training
And reading books like,
“Courtesy for Boys and Girls” forced me to swallow.
The vile tasting drink snaked down my throat nipping at soft tissue.
My eyes watered, the man in me
Fighting back tears.
Real men don’t cry, you see.
That was five minutes ago.
There’s a lady with nubian skin a few meters away.
She’s holding a mug of warm Cocoa drink with two hands,
Her head crowned with a stubborn looking ‘fro
That certainly craves coconut oil constantly,
And as she sensually sips her drink
I can almost hear her happy hormones overflowing
I keep staring, coveting…
It occurs to me how different she is
From a certain Coffee loving Cocoa drink hating Significant Other
And I realize I’m being emotionally unfaithful,
To my cup of Coffee.
My Coffee is now lukewarm,
I should leave,
But I don’t
Instead I give the Nubian’s Cocoa another longing look.
I hate Coffee,
So why did I order it?
*****January 24, 2016*****