microbiome
at some point i decided to make him coffee in the morning-after. im going to have a cup anyway so this is hardly a sacrifice. he takes his coffee black and enjoys his showers icy, which i consider his only true flaw. that is, if you dont count the insurmountable flaw of not reciprocating my madness. we spend hours sipping, smoking, speaking. inevitably, the coffee goes cold, the cups abandoned. the coffee mug sits on the bookshelf where he left it. hours, days, weeks. at some point i remember i have to clean it out, but i remember how he looked holding the lip of the cup to his own.
the cup sits for a few more days.
when i finally come to my senses, i look inside the cup. a rainbow world of mold and bacteria swirl around the oily black liquid. it is a petri dish of his microbiome. i cultivated a small sample of his essence. the thought of pouring down this liquid gold down the drain feels like donning a hair shirt. instead, i close my eyes, put my lips to the lid, and tilt my head back.