Coffee called me

I heard it quite loudly, calling my name.
A beautiful sound and I loved it, the same.
White china, pursed lips, inside brown and frothy.
It feels like my heartbeat, my morning coffee.
Excited, with flutters, after the night before,
I'd text first to check, before opening the door.
'I'm on my way now,' neglecting to say,
I was made up and smiling for this day.
The reply, far from perfect, the pot had run dry.
My eyes stopped the tears, my heart did cry.
Gone, once again without a good morning.
My marble head sees a bright light dawning.
Last night, what I said, 'I'm starting to fall,'
I asked, 'was it that?' he said, 'no not at all.'