The taste of coffee always lingered on her lips. It’s one of the many things I miss, looking back at it now. That God awful taste of one of the few things I hated most on this planet… and I actually missed it. How its bitter taste would somehow transfer from her mouth into mine, and how its taste would wander around my taste buds all afternoon.  How every now and then, it was brewed so stong, that even its smell would loiter around on occasion. 

Eventually, I became blind to it. I no longer complained about the vile leftover flavor that would invade my entire mouth. I stopped noticing the aftertaste of our early evening greetings.  I didn’t ever realize it in the moment of our shared affection, or even after the fact. To me, it had just become a part of my everyday routine.  Until the day I kissed my wife for the first time… and for some reason it seemed off kilter. There was something wrong… something different. And an entire month later it finally hit me. Much like my former self… She hated coffee
So know I speak from experience when I say that coffee is an acquired taste… because with every kiss we had shared, the more my liking for it grew. The more accustomed I came to it… The more I craved it… The more it felt like home to me. 

And now here I am, sitting on my front porch across the table from my wife. I’ve got my cigarette in one hand… and my cup of coffee in the other, forever reminded of how it stands as the warm token of the woman I once loved how much I miss her. And listening to the new love of my life complain how she despises the bitter aftertaste that now lingers on my lips.