Coffee is sweet.
It is smooth and jazzy, frothy and warm and dry, yet so full of life.
Coffee reminds me of the 50's era; that sepia twang and shades of hazel and pecan in every skirt, couch and table.
The milky thickness like dripping butter, splashes of gold with every twinkle dangling from a little silver spoon, covered in that sticky brown sugar that sticks to it like an old tarnished bike left in the rain for too many years, as it sits their eagerly in all it's beaming-ness, in hope for another dunking into the cappuccino.
Plop goes in the sugar, and as you swirl around that sticky tarnished spoon, the hot foam and dutch chocolate tangos into an erotic swedish dance. Like a Spanish and a Swede making love in the white sands of Napoli. Raw sparks of sugar seducing the couple as they come together under roaring blinking stars and an eager mouth of a young Australian girl, ready to gulp the story down in one steaming sip.
And out breaths the morning coffee breath, the dehydrated, dry bitter scent that repels any good looking boy's lips.
Coffee is a jealous teenage hottie. You crave her and sip her up, down to her last drop and she loves it. She craves you as much as you crave her. She urges you for more, you lick her up all over. and you love it. But she hates the other girls in your life, she hates the potential cuties that might make you laugh, smile or potentially, passionately make out with you. So she grabs your tongue, and ties a knot in the far back of your throat. So rough and jagged that you can't bare to open your mouth and ask for help, for a kiss, for a laugh. So she has you, wrapped up in her coffee stench and haze of burnt earthy smog.
Coffee is like that; a love hate relationship, the addictive kind.
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