Even if you never call Blues Soul

You come in late, cold on your shoulder, lipstick faint,
Coffee gone colder.
Your keys hit the table like you might walk back out.
I stir my sugar slow, try not to shout, but this is love,
The kind that stains like wine.
It leaves little rings on the table over time, and we push,
We pull, we fall apart, then fit.
If this is all we get, I can live with it.
We talk in circles, old grooves, same track.