Coffee

It was strange to sit up in a bed, the smell the coffee coming from the kitchen, and I realize I wasn’t the first person up. I liked the idea of a hot cup of coffee waiting for me downstairs, but for so long, it had been my kitchen and my kitchen alone. I couldn’t help but think I was dreaming. Perhaps, it was a dream. Perhaps, if I pinched myself, I would wake up. Yet, the smell of my fresh, brewed beverage lingered through the room like a foreign language. I rose and tiptoed down the hall, cautiously, making sure I wouldn’t scare my fiancé. “Good morning baby,” I said as my fingers untangled his thick, chocolate brown hair. My other hand quickly made its way to his. Our lips locked and butterflies entered the room. I was drowning in admiration, adoration, and passion, all in different lakes; yet the enchantment he enthralled upon me was like the ocean, easy to get lost in and profound. His raspy, sexy voice made me want to do him right then and there. He has this amazing way with turning me on… he has trouble walking, trouble standing up, trouble buttering his toast, but he can do me right. When he tries to express himself with words, it doesn’t work out, but I’m not one for words anyhow. I admire him much like my favorite book, soaking up information as it’s given to me. I depict his emotions through the tone in his voice or the way his eyes light up talking to me; little things become everything. With his body—his lips, his hands, his muscle, his curves—love puts me in a fix. I become addicted. I was exhilarated with his existence. Unable to control myself much longer, I thrust myself onto him as my bare legs intertwined within his, our bodies compressed on the kitchen table. However, I continued to crave to, somehow, someway, get closer. I wanted to accomplish my goals with him, build with him, start a family with him, grow old with him. It awed me that a shot of vodka could no longer bring me the comfort his weight upon mine could. My heart sang a song, and he completed the verse. And it was then, in the midst of my manifestation, unconsciously roaming within my most intimate thoughts, that I tore open my chest, grabbed my heart, and placed it within the palm of my lover’s hands. And I just stood there, naked and vulnerable, as I kissed him with my bleeding heart in his hands, and the smell of coffee wafting in the room.