Failing Warmth

Poured coffee from the dented thing

into a paper cup. Supposed to be hot.

It wasn't. Just lukewarm, a weak comfort

against the morning's chill.

The blue paint faded, chipped away,

revealing silver scars beneath.

Another promise broken, another thing

that couldn't hold its heat.

And I held the cup, just a little sad,

for the comfort that never came to be.