Tuesday, February 11, 2014

A Tea Party

What time has come
upon this place
that calls for champions
to fall from grace
and delve into the

Alleys, gutters, metal bins:
these are our labyrinths.

My hope is pinned
upon your chest,
my breath is neon
carving space
through chiaroscuro

You’re dressed in white;
I’m draped in black.

Your arm in mine,
the good, the bad –
a swirl, a twirl, a bend…

A dip, a nod across a room
a dainty sip,
a cuppa.

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