deepundergroundpoetry.com
Sweet Tea
When lonesome home I have a cup of tea,
A gentle steaming cup to put me right.
I hear the mantle ticking of the clock
And watch Venetian sunrise' morning light.
The crack of day is empty in my hands
While warmth of vessel cradles tenderly.
I think of nothing in these vacant notes,
And then I see him peeking in on me.
I know he's far away at work in thought;
Perhaps still tending his own cup of sweet,
Or pouring tanic acid from an urn
And touches lips to rim to think of me.
I live these times for when we phantom meet,
When morning wraps us in a gentle sweep.
A moment from when life begins to rise
While lovers sip from cups of amber steeped.
April 10 ( NaPoWriMo 2017 )
Venetian = blinds
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