Orange crusted diamonds cover city streets
And when I gaze upon them
I’m reminded of the days we meet
In café’s in the suburbs,
Where the espresso’s always burnt.
You always want to argue
With the baristas
But I’d rather not have their ego’s hurt.
So instead you take the paltry
Coffee that you’re given
Knowing it’s not of quality
But, at least your mind’s still living.
“Unlike the tombs we see outside
This coffee shop each day,” you snide
The first time we came here
You asked me,
“Becky, why did you take me to a coffee shop across from a cemetery?”