It’s only coffee,
I repeated to myself
over and over again
on the drive to meet you.
You looked out of breath
and dressed to the nines,
like you had taken time
to prepare yourself
to see me,
and got caught up in that
so you had to run.
It’s only coffee,
I insisted as we sipped our
warm mochas,
chatting idly
about nothing in particular.
It was only coffee
I reminded myself
when I started to
overanalyze
the afternoon.