The Opposite Of Coffee

She gets a haircut every June

On a kitchen chair

Last year it couldn't come too soon

Now she couldn't care

Her mind is otherwise occupied

She sits cross-legged on the floor

In an A-line skirt

But she'd make a beeline for the door

If it was up to her

When the autumn leaves

Then the winter settles in

And sometimes it seems

As though that overcoat's her second skin

She often speaks so softly

She sends me to sleep

She's the opposite of coffee

She's the last thing I need first thing in the morning

When the autumn leaves

Then the winter settles in

And sometimes it seems

As though that overcoat's her second skin

Everything she says ends softer than it starts

So few of her sentences end in exclamation marks

She starts talking, I start yawning

She's the last thing I need first thing in the morning