Last Cup

You are my last cup of coffee
A dozen people stand between me and you
and take turns worshipping you and
you show them your many colors
while I restlessly wait to see my name
marked on your side

My addiction in an 8 oz cup
One cup, two, Grande, Venti, Trenta
a thirty-one ounce monolith I can cradle in my hands.
Others will guzzle down your fake copies but I tenderly
raise you to my lips and savor you.

You satisfy always
I feel you in my veins, warming inside and out,
an empty shell in my grip.

I drink all of you because I need you
and without you I can’t stay awake.