poetry

Tea. This morning. With you.

Love is in your arms
and soul
and in the way you look at me when I read
but love is also
you urging me to be still
to be alone
to be quiet
to really see
how my tea tinges each cup
with rings of stories not yet written.
I hope that this cup will have stains
from years not yet lived
so we can smile upon
the quiet love
the quiet life
the quiet understanding
that comes with years of me really seeing you
and you really seeing me.

Tea. This morning. With you.

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