She is like the lemonade he would crave during
supper in the hottest summer evening.
The frogs would be singing from the pond in
back, their patio door completely open. She
would be across from him dressed in a little tank,
her arms glowing rose from her afternoon walk.
I am like the richest coffee. The dark beans
worth his money. He stops for a cup every
morning, even on Saturdays and Sundays.
Its flavor lovely on his tongue and soothing down
his throat.
But, he drinks his coffee
with her.
And I never liked lemonade…ever.
