Analysis of Morning Alchemy

I rise, just after the sun has. Watch the birds sing and play tag on the steps. Listen to them as I puff on my menthol cigarette, this kind of breathing more habit than instinct. More addiction than hobby. As I smoke, my brain just as empty first thing in the morning as my lungs on exhale… I am already thinking about you.
I wander into the kitchen, open up my cabinets and grab the necessary ingredients for my morning alchemy. I move sluggishly to the counter, and prepare to meet you. But first, I must create you. Filter. Dry grounds. Cold water. Press the magic button and wait as you slowly go from parts of something, to someone. It takes a few minutes, but then there you are. Dark as a well’s ink. Warm as a summer’s day. Fragrance more alluring than perfume.
Coffee.
You ripple and heat the pot, waiting to be greeted. So I do, pouring you into my trusty mug and adorning you with accessories such as sweetener or creamer. You, my dear, are a sight for tired eyes. Steaming with enthusiasm, swirling sweetly. Beautiful. But this is not all that you are. You are my companion. The pep in my step. I sip you tenderly, with reverence. You are more holy to me than communion, each gulp of you an answered prayer.
My dearest Coffee,
May we never part,
In spite of what you do to my nerves
And to my heart.