Cappuccino

You start having sparkling cappuccini
from one after one
and one after another;
I am accustomed to my apathy
from the presence of you
for you and no other.

I sense your buzzing mind
through your breath,
the standard lowered,
discipline loses its significance,
our convictions differ,
my disappointments are to be ordinary,
your words are to be weightless.
But I am intuitive,
a pen and a piece of paper are all I possess,
but you aren't aware of that
because of my insincere approval
-- the disguise of my soul,
wrapped in a borrowed costume.
My fast heartbeat spells out rage,
empty look pronounces hatred,
and yet I've grown to fit in my apathy
because your love
is transparent, tainted and foamy,
labeled "cappuccino".