Cold coffee

You mock me for my coffee left cold and lonely
On the bedside table.
I always promise to drink it, yet never do.
My mishaps amuse you
So you kiss my furrowed brow
And smile, winningly.

Hot caffeinated steam billows through the room
As I bide my time for the perfect Celsius.
Meanwhile, you cradle my face in your palms
As a Fortune Teller beholds a crystal ball
So precious and dangerous in its’ fragility;
The certain uncertainty of what the future holds.

I hear promises tinkle in the doorways, soft chimes of hope
And dream-like fantasies of years to come.
The suburbs, a country house, a farm
Heaving with young, beautiful four-legged creatures,
Children, laughter, sunsets and soft sighs over
Cups of warm tea and honey

That I will never drink.