Bitter Morning Shift

Coffee once bit sharp,

a kiss of dark fire on my tongue,

wake-up call crackling loud.

Now it slides flat and empty,

a cup of shadows, hollow heat

lingering like a bad dream.

The mug chipped, the steam fading quick,

a whispered lie in each bitter sip,

promise gone sour with time.

I swallow slow, tasting age,

bitterness that wasn’t always here,

a flavor grown too heavy to ignore.