She takes her men like her coffee.
Hot, bodied, and a little bit expensive.
She drinks her coffee….
Cautious not to get burned.

She likes her men like her cookies,
Hard on the outside,
Soft on the inside,
Crumbling at the flicker of her touch
Eager for her bite.

She likes her men
To make sense.
To be consistent.
To be alert.
To be able to read the signs like,
When the coffee cup is half empty,
Or half full.
When it needs a refill,
Or just sit empty.
Signs like,
When she needs more of you,
Or when she’s just not that into you.

But the men she likes don’t know how to read.
They are illiterate masterpieces.
Beautiful to watch,
Exciting to take home,
Carefully wrapped in their little take-out packages,
Filled with a large emotional unavailability,
And a side of lies.
All neatly placed inside a firm, brown, paper bag
Of bullshit.
They are fuckboys and also sponsors.
They are friends and also enemies.
They are like brothers and also strangers.
They are stressful.
They are misfortunes’ doppelganger
Reappearing one after the other like a bad miracle.
So different, yet so similar…
Damn, some even share names.
Hell, they could be brothers.
But these are the men she likes.

So she takes them in like coffee.
Like a sweet intoxicating escape from reality.
But only for a second.
She has learned not to rush the moment.
To let the caffeine set in,
Before she tries other flavors.
She is eager to be alert for the moment,
Imprint the memory of coffee for the morning after,
Only to relive it again with the girlfriends.
Purple bedrooms, Cali t-shirts, and cluster headaches.
Zege for breakfast and gin to wash it down.
Only to relive it again with the girlfriends.
She truly takes her coffee for the tea after.

And the tea may be great,
But not like a hot Espresso.
And this Espresso is steamy,
So steamy,
That with her Cali t-shirt on,
Makes her roll in the sheets.
Makes her giggle.
Makes her high on the fragrance,
As Espresso tells her,
“Your body is beautiful”.
After gin and zege
And an unruly game of Kings cup.
Never sober,
Espresso never says
“Your body is beautiful”.
When he’s sober.
Espresso lies.
Espresso lies in her arms for 2 hours,
Before he goes back to being just another hot drink.
Unaware, clueless, unable to read the signs.
Espresso pretends too much,
And honestly,
She thinks Espresso has the hots for the barista anyway.
So she sets the cup down.
And like the connoisseur that she is,
She walks away.

But she still likes coffee,
And coffee she likes.
So she tries a different flavor
A similar dark brew.
So BOLD. So different.
So much stronger than Espresso.
She found a Double Espresso to her liking.
And trust me when I tell you,
She likes her dark brew.

Not because it’s anything special
But because it’s hard, and it’s bitter.
It’s flavor is soooo… rounded.
Fits her profile,
Her mood,
When she’s feeling… feisty.
Like when she wants to make cute mistakes,
But needs that extra boost of liquid courage.
That’s her dark brew,
Making her do things she’s never done before,
Quirky meetups,
Lavish rendezvous,
And feeling jealous when anyone but she gets a refill.
Double Espresso leaves an aftertaste she can’t forget.
But when she is done with the cup,
She is done with the cup.

So on to dessert she goes.
And with any sweet dessert,
She washes it down with a nice Caramel Macchiato.
Cause who doesn’t like a cute, little, Macchiato.
Swirling in the milk,
Drowning in the caramel,
The drink falls long and deep inside her.
And all she does is savor the moment.
Cause she can’t have too much.
Cause sweet things aren’t good for your health.

And on the drive home she thinks to herself,
She drinks anything of the hot variety.
But not instant coffee.
Instant coffee only represents
The times of her life when she knew nothing of coffee.
When she drank it religiously,
Cause there was no other alternative available.
Sure, her coffees now may be bitter.
But none have been as tasteless,
As that bland, insecure, confused, instant coffee.
And honestly, she’d rather drink tea,
Than another cup of instant.


Tracy Eric Writes… in the place of another. 


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