I will drink coffee in the morning, black with sugar in it.
It's darkness and warmth, I feel, through my mug,
is a contrast to the chilly air and the lightening world beyond.
Stubbornly, it stands against the light.
Jealously protecting itself, hiding within it own darkness.
It's depth cannot be seen, though it continues to emanate warmth from within;
a hint of being alive still.
I will drink in its darkness and taste its sweetness,
take in its aroma, along with that bitterness that goes so well with it all.
We will share our warmth and our hearts, and I will understand it better now after,
why that bitterness is worth holding on.
Because its sweetness and aroma is so familiar yet like no other,
and cannot be forgotten nor ignored.
Perhaps that is why, so many others are morning coffee drinkers,
or maybe it's just me.
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