Musings in a Cup of Coffee

The steaming billows flow from liquid skin,
akin,
and like to those above which fill the sky,
on high.
Vapors these, not born on solid ground,
but found
to stimulate, and for poor sanity's sake,
to wake
at sunrise, many tired souls below,
aglow.
Alike to food of gods and to the seed,
heed!
A darker side, though heavenly nectar this,
and bliss.
The eye will droop and flesh will shake and doubt
without,
and pained heads will raucously abound
and pound.
Decrepit form and restful night will bow,
now,
to false alertness in the midnight sheen
of the bean.