More of me spinning ofF the ideas of others. This time from Nayara Nair who(I think) is alluding to a little dissatisfaction in relationships (not hers, I am sure) and painting, for me, a picture of two familiar strangers looking over the table at breakfast.
**
I don’t care much for coffee
Does coffee care for me?
My cup is always empty
Is that how it should be?
We sit here at the table
At night we share a bed
Your ring upon my finger
But are we really wed?
You ask me how I’m feeling
I say I’m feeling fine
But I don’t care much for coffee
I’m in the mood for wine
**
Richmond Road 
Oh, I like that! Pass the wine! I’ve never been able to adjust to the taste of coffee. I’m more likely to swallow a caffeine pill (or, better yet, just sleep late). Great poem–once again, your endings always have a surprise!!
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My husband didn’t eat breakfast. I found that out after being married for two weeks and he finally admitted it. So why was I breaking my neck trying to make the perfect round pancakes?
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Well …. I think, in terms of confessions after two weeks of marriage, this one is probably forgivable. I hope you like pancakes, though.
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They’re ok.I 🤠
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wine at the breakfast table, now I’m getting worried!
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More like brunch, really.
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ah so that makes it excusable 😎
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Of course it does. I should stress, however, that I wasn’t really talking about wine or coffee.
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ah sorry for being so obtuse!
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Zing!
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