paper cups

When I hear your name

I feel like breaking glass,

kicking an old woman,

spitting on a flower.

You’re spilled coffee;

hot and a bother to clean up.

You’re black coffee;

strongly bitter, flavor overcoming.

You’re light and sweet coffee;

artificially arranged.

You’re Starbucks Coffee;

pricey hypocrisy, bland and lame.

But I do love their espressos.

“Two doppios for Glenn with a G!”

When you told me your name

I felt like glass breaking,

helping an old lady,

picking you a daisy.

Like I spilled my coffee,

I was hot and bothered.

Your smell, like black coffee,

was richly flavored, strongly filling.

You were light and sweet coffee

my loving tongue was lovely sipping.

You were Seattle’s Best Coffee.

Honest origin, humbly made with skill.

But your colors changed from red to green.

My palms went shaking.

I woke up crashing.

Escaping, I swore

to only drink juice.

But when I hear your name

I feel like breaking promises.

photo1:http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4003/4514495576_e2fb5a8d1d.jpg

photo2:http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3654/3695615600_9bf269ecac.jpg