Spill the Beans

The look would be horrid,

Certainly as my mood,

If I poured down the cup of coffee,

On her pretty book.

How I wish I wasn’t there,

How I wish you were with me,

Not when the coffee spilled,

But when we made the run out of that sin.

It’s miserable and cunning,

To do something you dislike,

Or rather not be able to do what you love,

Just like spilling the cup of coffee,

On that pretty little book.

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