You make fun of my drink order, saying it's basically sugar. And I smile because that's the point- my bitter milkshake.
You offer your coffee. It's a light brown, at least a quarter milk and I trust it to be like what I would make at my house. I hesitate for a second, placing my lips on a foreign object, accepting sharing, leading myself to potential physical vulnerability. My mouth will touch the same thing yours once did- it's all I can think about. To share something with our lips that is more than a laugh. I sip it and make a face as the flavor hits my tongue. I laugh and say "there's no sugar in this." And you tease "yeah it's real coffee."
Even though I've never kissed your face and probably never will- this feels close enough for now.
YOU ARE READING
Metamorphosis
Poetry"You do not cease to exist just because I wish you to." Started: 4/3/20 Finished: 8/20/20 My 6th poetry book.
