No matter how bad the touch. No matter how bad the scrape. No matter how bad the cut. My skin is mine. Not yours.
“Coffee” by Adam Sellers There was a point in time where I would not drink coffee. My coffee maker sat dormant. Not working hard at all. No creamer in the fridge. No whipped cream in my mugs. No flavor of vanilla, caramel, pumpkin spice, or peppermint. Just bland, tasteless water. Water was the only thing that would fill up my cup. Because coffee reminded me of you. And how it was the only thing you would drink. No water in your system. No coolant, Just heat. A cup for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. None for me. When we would drink coffee together, you told me about sugar. How sweet it would make my coffee. Just like you. So, I started adding sugar. My coffee became infused with you. And anytime you would get a Frappuccino, I would do the same. I was so infatuated with you. So addicted to you, That when you left, coffee was not on my menu anymore. No home brews. No coffee house lattes. No Starbucks shit. Coffee and you consumed my existence. To the point that the taste was you. The smell was you. The feeling was you. Coffee was your addiction, and you are mine. And one day, both became so addicting. I now make or buy coffee every day. To make my days filled with you.
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