Coffee

An older guy came into my work today;

He told me I look familiar.

I don’t know whom he was thinking of,

But I was thinking of you;

Coffee brewing next to your desk.

I work at coffee shop now,

Would you believe it?

Would you believe I like coffee now?

I’ve learned to take it black.

I don’t remember how you take your coffee anymore,

That kills me a little.

But it’s been years since I knew.

I remember the brand you drank though.

And your green mug.

I remember four cups of coffee in a day weren’t near enough for you.

Now four cups of coffee in a day aren’t near enough for me.

I get hints of you everyday,

Like citrus notes in a light roast coffee.

Do you get hints of me?

Do you burn your tongue on me

When a girl with vibrant hair sits in the front of your room?

Is it an earthy finish

When someone names Shakespeare in the hall?

Do you taste honey

When a carried book dwarfs the person carrying it?

Do you savor it?

Memories dancing in the back of your mind like flavors on the back of your pallet.

Or have I gone stale?

A sour aftertaste chasing the rush of caffeine.

Do you get hints of me?