Black Coffee

Black velvet chairs pressed arm to arm,
fingertips, just inches away.
He moves his hand toward his coffee mug,
gripping its handle,
leaning in, his lips hitting the chipped rim.
She reaches out to the cream,
pouring in every last drop,
cheating him out of the rest.

His heel taps on the tile,
getting louder and louder.
Can’t we just talk about this?
Her blue polished nails reaching out to him,
he jolts his arm out of her loose grip.
I can’t even look at you right now.

She stares down,
now noticing every crack in the tile floor.
He grabs his coffee off the table,
leaving a circular burn
branded into the wood.
Permanently.

Her coffee now half empty,
restless in the mug.
Squeezing the rim tight,
heat spreading,
ripping her hand off,
palms left bright red.