A simple cup of tea

The cauldron bubbles with its spell, and I check to see whether this afternoon’s swell is set for black tea or oolong. No time to boil flesh from bone when we can sit and cast our stones at the designers whose glass homes have gone all wrong. But stirring the pot my visions merge; I sit down with the sudden urge to ask why I can’t purge this red sedan from tea leaves; run along with your sneakers with the orange stripes and don’t roll down the window.


About Jenn

Find me on Twitter @JennGruden
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