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My Cup of Tea
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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How can I battle fate when it surrounds my soul from all sides? Remember, ‘my time is marked.’ To truly be friends with time is to accept its grinding gears that never fail to miss a beat. After all, time is what keeps order every millisecond that passes. Time is the ultimate power that can’t be altered.