The steam uncoils like a whispered lie,
a ghost in the curl of a tea-leaf,
—black as a raven’s sigh,
but something lingers, steeped too hot.
Not leaves, but darkness, swirling slow,
a stain that clings to porcelain bone,
it pours like ink, but thicker still—
drink deep, and taste what isn’t there.
.
The throat remembers, it was never just tea,
it was crumpets for you and me,
and the shadow that does not dissolve,
—oh, Sweet, who left their silhouette.
Cleverly penned, Adagio. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Thank you, Damian.
I watched Alice in wonderland on youtube from the early 1900’s. I’m guessing Mr. Carrol was on drugs when he wrote it, don’t know. I know Jefferson Airplane was when they went to watch the movie.
I like the darkness in this; the surrealism. Nice writing.
Thank you.