Cold Coffee.

It's the cold water.
Things weren't that heated anymore.
It's the milk that doesn't mix
Like the cold marble flooring of your cold,
Cold-hearted father's kitchen.
Or the pattern on my cheesecake which
Was the only thing I smiled at.
The grains and the sugar sit in unconscious sand
Dunes at the bottom of my cup.
Just like the ones I buried my head in
Whenever you buried your head in your hands.
Stirring won't help things any more,
The taste just won't be right.
Recoil your lips from the chill,
Like I recoil from you still.