To a Morning Ex, with Milk

I never trusted you when you were sweet.
You just weren't honest.
You seemed so harmless,
only to drive me
into the flimsy arms of exhaustion.
On those days, I found it better
to go next door, to Mother and tea.
Did you ever notice that she
never turned to you
when she was feeling down?
She knew your bitter side,
when you were strong
and I was weak.
Of course, only I understood
the joy of Saturday mornings
with you, alone in bed.
You kept me hanging on for years,
your Italian-Columbian mix my habit.
But your acid was stronger than mine.
Still, it's good at least
to catch a whiff of you again,
enjoy a roasted breath of memory.