I smell you in the morning when I wake up. I’ll roll over to see if you’ve found your way into my room. But it’s always just me. I hear you tinkering about in the kitchen, doing things to get me ready for my day.

I never used to be a morning person. Hell, I used to sleep through the entire morning. But with you backing me up, there’s a reason to wake up again.

When I’m brushing my teeth, I can hear you tinkling in that bashful way you do, drop after drop. It’s embarrassing, but it kind of turns me on. It gets me out of bed, anyway. I love the way you smell and taste.

I grip you when I walk into class. I want everyone to know we’re together, and that you’re mine.

Some people say I just have a thing for you because it’s trendy. They say we’re only together because you’re black. Because it raises eyebrows, or makes people think about a different kind of love – about steaming passion arising where most don’t expect it.

It scares me, sometimes, taking you into my mouth. And when you catch me off guard, we really make a mess. Remember that stain we made on my favorite khakis? That never came out.

And try explaining to Dr. Anderson the mess we made when we fooled around all over the research I was doing for her. Try explaining to the librarians why I had you tucked under the table when there were clearly signs forbidding such things all over the place.

But I’ve got to keep you close, even if I have to jam you into my backpack all day. (But never again will I hold you in my crotch. We learned our lesson after the drive-through incident.)

We’ve had our bad times. Remember when you thought I was cheating on you? You found the others like you that I’d been hiding in the fridge. That took some explaining . and we eventually started experimenting with sugar cubes till you tasted just as sweet. It’s always best doing things raw, though.

No extras – just you, 12 cups of boiling water and that slinky white thing I like to slip around you.

Let’s hide in smoky shops all day. I’ll cradle you, lap you, lick you up. Let’s go to another country.

Europeans will accept us for what we are. If they don’t, we’ll just find a region where nobody knows English. That way, when they call us freaks, we won’t understand them. We’ll just smile and wave.

My parents used to tell me to stay away from you. They’d say you were bad, but I’d hear them having their way with you when they thought I was still in bed. Sipping. Slurping.

They said you’d stunt my growth. Well, you can stunt me all you want now, because I tried to go a day without you and I can’t take it. I miss you so much my head aches.

I hate waking up and not having you somewhere nearby, warm and ready to go, ready to get in me. So warm. So soothing.

A day without you isn’t worth being conscious for. A class without you in me renders me useless. I just slip into a slack-jawed coma.

Get in me, Mocha. Take me, Espresso. Slide over my tongue all slow and sensual, Starbucks.

You make me happy. I’d sleep through every sunrise if I didn’t have you coursing through my veins. You’re better than sleep. You’re Coffee. You’re like Prozac and Ritalin and energy all rolled into one. A pound of you is two weeks of joy.

Rock me. Take me. Get in me now.

I love you. Now Irish yourself up and get over here.

Cavan Reagan is a junior in journalism and mass communication from Bellevue, Neb. He is the news editor of the Daily.