Every morning, she would visit me at my office.
She would sit down in the velvet plush chair
That was always in the corner by the crooked candle
Right up against my book collection that held all of our most beloved books.
They wall-papered the room from the ceiling all the way down to the hardwood floors.

Right next to the velvet plush chair was a circular table.
Every morning after she sat down in the velvet plush chair,
She would lean forward with her legs crossed
And daintily lay twin cups of crisp, dark coffee on the circular table.

I liked my coffee black,
Like her eyes.

My office chair was in close reach of the table.
Every morning upon her arrival I would swivel my office chair around,
Leaving my back towards the muscular, encompassing desk,
And my smile towards her to enlighten her precious, porcelain face.

The table was in close reach of my office chair and
I would lean over the table to retrieve my crisp, dark coffee
And also take her thin, pale hand.

Every morning she’d be wearing a black, silk pencil skirt with a white collared shirt,
As well as scarlet patent leather Mary Janes.
Her hair was knotted into a chic bun.
Her lips were always a matte nude color.

Her classic look reflected her classic character:
Simple as a thimble, calm as a lofty sea breeze, sweet as peach tea.

Every morning we would have the same conversation that went something like,
“Here’s your coffee, sweetie.”
“Thank you, darling.”
And we would pull out a book about birds or sail boating or something else interesting
And we would read together and I would drink my crisp, dark coffee
And hold her thin pale hands.

Every morning, little was spoken
Yet I grew to know her so well.
I held conversations with her thin pale hands as
I’d intertwine finger by finger into mine,
Like vines around bamboo.

I began to crave her presence like an Ethiopian elephant
Thirsts in the dungy, dirty desert,
Plowing through the tussled sand
Searching for just one droplet among the humid heat.

Yesterday was rather different though.
I entered my office and performed my morning routines,
As did she.

She was running late today and I began to worry,
But sure enough
She entered my office
And sat down in the velvet plush chair,
Crossed her legs,
And daintily laid twin cups of crisp, dark coffee on the circular table.

“Here’s your coffee, sweetie.”
“Thank you, darling.”
And I reached for my crisp, dark coffee
And my eyes met her mocha black eyes.

I decided that now was the time,
Now was the time
To reveal my love
For her who delivered my crisp, dark coffee,
Every morning,
To my office.

So she reached for a book,
And I took her thin pale hands and said
Those three one-syllable words
Known to all who live and breathe.

The office went silent,
And she snatched her hand back.
“That’s nonsense,” she told me,
Then strutted back to the velvet plush chair,
Crossed her legs and leaned forward to sip from the crisp, dark coffee.

Like nothing had been revealed.

She reached out her thin pale hand
For me to hold,
But this time I refused.

So she abruptly arose from the velvet plush chair,
Collected her cups of crisp, dark coffee,
And scuffled to the door is disbelief,
And I swore to her and said,
“I love you, dear,”
And she had to words to reply.

She exited the office.
I swiveled my office chair back
Towards the solid oak desk.

My cup had run dry.
My mind longed in great desperation
For just one more drink of coffee,
One more drink of her.

Now every morning
My shoulders solemnly sag.
My body drapes numb, slumped in my office chair,
My vision blurred
As black as coffee.