ode to my coffee grinder

you’re red sweet thing
and hot to go though not
so hot that you abide

the residue of peppers

which my ex  the con-man
tricked you into grinding

no you thrive on dark
French roast   I hear your sigh 
when I approach  you dear

I fear that we have secrets

you and I because

though born at Starbucks
you disdain their beans

our secret love is Midnight Oil
the 15 seconds waiting
we think only taste

and yes we hate the cleaning
much like coming
down from orgasm