If everything was as exquisite
as a perfect cup of tea!
Life would be unbearable
in its all-expanding beauty
and limitless optimism
...or is it already?
Magpies stomping on the roof
Rustling sounds in the garden
to the nocturnal rustlings
shadows of the morning walkers
passing by my window
the dusty film makes it all seem
lace hanging haphazardly
like a renaissance era opera dancer
in a state of delicious dishevelment
Dogs pull their humans
eager to know what news this day brings
so easily sated
by the daily miracle
of the sun remembering to rise
What further delight
would any sane person
seek to seek?
Stay here in this
the gold of highest value
hear the praises
sung by those with wings
whose freedom of flight
allows the broadest view from above
who still choose
to come home to roost
They will always remind me
that to be near a tree
is all I need
To breathe the freshness
of the new day
in through my newest leaves
down to my deepest roots
And to feel my expansion
My arrival home
In every direction
as I exhale
Dwelling in the ultimate dimension
Grateful for this breath
Bedtime brings such joy
First sip of tea tomorrow morning
Oh subtle maiden, so light and ephemeral… are you even real?
Who was your namesake, that you are such a simple pleasure, in your blue Twinings paper gown, with an arousal so light that you tempt me a second time?
Today’s early start and less than well child take their toll as the afternoon wears on.
I urgently scrape the wet side of the last piece of Turkish delight through the icing sugar, hanging out for a hit of false zest.
Water, some nuts, perhaps a meedjool date – I know what I ought to do. And I do these things earnestly, I do. And in addition I crave my fragrant mistress, who seems to promise that she’ll never tell.
Please don’t, my afternoon darling. Don’t tell those neural pathways of the night that we have trysted so late in the day. Our romance depends on your discretion.
For you serve me not well as a morning friend. Not even your husband The Earl will do as a prelude to that exotic dark beaned stud who visits just once a day.
No. Your place in my heart is discrete as it is discreet. My 3:00-5:00 pm liaison. And in that window, I adore and revere you.
But ’tis on days such as these that I may seek your pleasure double.
And if I dare, and I know you won’t dissuade me; how can I know that you will let my True Love, Sleep, wrap her most sincere arms around me when I seek my nightly rest?
How can I trust you not to jostle with her, taking me in rapidly changing directions through diary entries past and future, through refrigerator contents, choreography ancient and yet unknown, through band names, song lyrics, childhood wounds, current concerns… oh light touch you may have; but I know your secret depth.
As I know what you give me in this moment; as the stretch in front of me gapes wide, alluding to another walk, (this time with teapot, unicorn, and boots on the wrong feet), more trampoline bouncing, some kind of cobbled together evening meal and the epic bath book etc end of things… of course I need your sweet whisper of courage.
The bergamot on your breath urging me to recall my optimism at sunrise; your warmth in my mouth softening my every cell to continue my gracious surrender to every moment’s gifts.
Your soft lips brushing mine, with a lightness even more delicate than that of your notoriously gentle husband. Oh my treasured friend, you know I favour you above herbal remedies, or excess sugar, or the sensible option of a protein snack.
So please, as we repeat our most adult dalliance within minutes of the last sip, I beseech you, as the kettle steams in anticipation of our second kiss of the afternoon; betray me not, as I lay me down tonight.
Let me find slumber deep and sweet, and your place in the front of the drawer you shall keep.