venti black boy. to go, please.


when i kiss you i drop

sugar cube into black

coffee you are bitter you are whole bean ground up

dark

ain’t even the word

you are roast yes no yes yes

you are recipe for my destruction

or

resurrection

cream and sugar?

cream and sugar?

“ever had coffee with just cream?”

i ask him as i recount a story about a white man

or a nightmare

or a wet dream

i

cannot remember

“ever had coffee with just cream? and no sugar?”

i ask him as he pretends

he is not a bag of domino

as he wishes

i was not a cup of coffee

as he tries

to keep his cubes, together

or

stay composed and quiet here.

love is the most violent thing and

i have spent so much money that I don’t have on Dunkin’ Donuts this week,

I

feel so bad about it.

but i have to get my sugar

from

somewhere.

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