You’re like my coffee.
There are mornings when you make me sick. There are others when you give me vital energy to live.
Sometimes I like you pure with the darkness of your soul. Sometimes I like you pampered with more milk.
I need you in the afternoons and reject you late at night fearing that others might enjoy your steam.
You exploit me like all those people who pick your beans. However, your aroma makes it all alright: no additives in life.
You’re like me coffee. Beautiful – warm, sprinkled with some cream and decorated with cinnamon.
I keep the last drops in my dreams.