Love's Many Vessels

The first time I ever made you coffee I handed it to you, black and just a little burnt. with apology on my tongue, I said ‘sorry, there’s no cream.’ You, with your long black hair and snow driven smile replied, with reassurance on your lips, ‘it’s perfect, I prefer it black’ It’s been 6 months, sweet love, and I watched you making coffee with your short black hair and the sun shone bright against the cold, snow driven cream as it slipped into your mug. And in this moment I am struck by love’s elasticity. I held your love in a 2 liter carafe, the black coffee steaming. Yet in an instant you seamlessly hug the corners of the square cardboard carton of half and half and I tuck it away in the fridge door for safe keeping.