It hugs my mouth,
and its gentle froth of whipped cream kisses my upper lip and tickles my nose.
With every saccharine sip, a river slides down my throat
and warms me from the inside out,

but my repressed truths have more weight than a metal dumbbell.
They too are dirty
and ugly with simplicity.
Sinking onto the soft, squishy surface of my tongue
too heavy to be spoken aloud,
they crash down my windpipe
and echo in my hollow chamber.

You are my constant,
and we have a tradition:
we chase our true feelings with hot chocolate
and smile at each other.