My Cup of Tea This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

August 16, 2010
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Ring. Ding. That’s my cup of tea.
A little honey, a whole lot of leaves.
Over the mist, I see through the bellowing drapes.
A lady on the mezzanine.
A shaft between floors,
A haven between stories.
Just standing there with wonder on her lovely face.
Her mind is prurient. That much I can see.
My tea cools to a perfect temperature.
A marking of time. My time is marked.
Time is the axiom at its grandest.
Truth after truth within truths.
I take a sip. She twirls her hair.
I stand. She sautés.
We are in a game of burlesque.
What a party. What a wingding!
Leaves left in the cup. Honey congealed on the rim.
What does the future hold for me?
The leaves touch from root to tip. An eternal chain.
A halo of Earth to guide me.
I’m well-aware every second that passes,
They lose their shape to unforgiving chemistry.
But for now, sand defies gravity in the hourglass.
Frozen in this moment,
My attention is on her; my cup of tea.

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