[9] Little Pots of Tea

Posted on May 5, 2009

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I set the fire in your veins when I took my socks and books from your house. No more little pots of tea or bowls of rice over new music you couldn’t wait to show me. Maybe this week of rain will cool the fire and perhaps we’ll wake to each other like a rainy campground on Independence Day. The edges of the damp tent, a sheen of water clinging to the sleeping bag, the smell of wet mulch, and a fire that’s been dying quietly under the rain now full of charcoal that can absorb all our poison.

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Posted in: hearts