Coffee
"you are like a drug," he sayssipping me like coffee
and adding sugar when I am
too bitter
he wants me in the morning
before I am awake enough to stop his words
from affecting the silence
too awake now
in the middle of the night
its 1 AM
he's starving again
he wants a piece
saying sweetly, "your eyes are my soul"
so I don't question the glances
he makes toward the clock
with eyes
that only hold remnants
of taste
he wants unfettered coffee cups
and carefree circumstance
and my body is a cushion
for hard days
that make him wilt like old dandelions
in my hair
into my skin
taking all color
and leaving
a bitter taste in my mouth
