Thursday 27 August 2015

Something to Hold


'The situation is like this’
You declared, with a flutter of lips
And a wrist in the air. The teaspoon hung like an instrument
The tea almost hissed
Your legs lend the chair new proportions, always did.

A  calendar impressed
The opposite wall
Yet the tea, month, mouth -  was lavender. Bitter as gall
With the brewing.
I watched the milk fall, my fingers chewing
Over the silence, the wasting of sense.
The fat on the surface
And we both raised the cup to our lips
As I do now
Under absence.

Under this. 

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