I'm in love with an emo,

and I don't know if it's a curse
or a cup of bittersweet coffee.
And I hate morning coffee
but I'm under the spell of her
caffeine, the black pang of her
lips, her fingernails and
fingertips, the shadow
of her dusky eyes, her piercings,
the shirt she wears.
Her heart.

Is her heart dark, too?
I see a crack in her
smirks, a hole, a gap,
an uttered silence of loss,
a need to be alone. I feel
no sympathy, but a
burning nicotine like the cigar
she hushes.
I want to fill the crack
with my presence
and break the line between
our existence.
She's an emo and I'm a
loner. We have something
in common.

I'm in love with her,
and if this isn't a curse,
I'll drink the coffee.