Good To The Last Drop

I woke to the smell of coffee brewing. She brought me a steaming cup, black like I liked it. I liked it whatever way she brought it to me, of course. She set her cup down on the nightstand, eyeing the bed and me hungrily. One sip as she slipped the covers off me, caressing my ardor ravenously. One more sip as she used her tongue and lips in ways that conveyed much more than speaking ever could.

I never spilled a drop, and neither did she, as she took her cup off the nightstand.

“You think so deeply.” I looked at her, waiting for context, before nodding.
“I suppose I do. I can think no other way.”
“Ah, but you can.”
“You have found another way that is as good?”
She nodded. “Better.” She smiled. “I used to think deeply about everything, until I realized one thing.”
I looked at her expectantly, kissing her beautiful mouth, lovely forehead, each eyelid just once.
“What’s that?”
“Thinking deeply implies downward.” I nodded for her to continue. “That is why I started thinking highly. It’s thinking upward, outward, encompassing everything and not just yourself.”
“I certainly think highly of you, my love.” She frowned. “I know what you meant, though. It’s like the phrase ‘dig deep’ – that’s internal, downward. You’re talking about flying, soaring in thought, not getting lost in the minutiae of life.”
She smiled again, making the world a beautiful place again, and held me tight. “I knew I loved you for a reason.”
“Cream for your coffee?” I winked. She laughed, and I laughed, and suddenly we didn’t have the hands to hold coffee anymore. They were quite busy holding other things.

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