A Cup of Tea

A cup of tea in hand, I sit
Still. and ponder the letters you wrote
before;

steeped in
strange, nonchalant
curiosity at your new
acquisition, you write.
letters, forming words to
barricade time’s march
against two
falling feathers
from a common wing.

Your words overlap and loop
on repeat; phrases of a
familiar melody that once
pleased the hearer
phrases of a melody that once
phrases of a melody
phrases of

you, the ice cream truck
in a ringing
abscess
of
silence

you exist in the invisible
aquarium of memory where
words slide down glass walls
that break flesh, not glass…

In any case –
not wishing to coax an unwilling song,
I wrote words. My own
Words, must be mined for meaning;
running deep below the surface
of the mind, inaccessible quarks
breaking through cavernous depths,
you can hear me running

from my words, your letters, the grind
of cogs screeching against the inexorable
drum of Life will
Desist.

An arm is lifted. It pours
the tea. trickles down the sink,
too cold, too bitter to swallow.

[8 July 2009]

Copyright © 2014 Antelune. All Rights Reserved.

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