A hand on your mug, as with the other you pour eagerly with coffee. dropped at the instant it burns the hand and stains the floor. quips of pain overwhelm what sense is left in your wrist. now raw and tender. like a lovers touch on new brave hearts. inflamed with joy. aroused with mystery blamed for fate, ill maneuvered
moving toward realizing of false hopes that relied on bitter magnitudes from movers and shakers.
1 to be loved.
2 to be forgotten and
3 to crowd the street and proclaim premature happiness.
a love blossomed from a question and expanded from dire desperation a word tossed so heavily and powerfully to an chosen victim that mere acquaintance would suffice and from which true love would become so.
from which fellowships would depart. and replaced by ire, sorrow, and shame. another year would go by and faint memories would be raveled and displaced like cob webs in a room free of old heart breaks.
and as the clock would strike noon it's time for tea.
time to rest.
time to think
time to wait
to get back to work.
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