Infusion


Our bond, once a fine porcelain vessel,
Now has cracks veining its structure and beauty
Due to the hands of time.

New, it poured the black, spiced aromatic tea
Into cups wherein the fingers embraced
All of its delicate shape and feel,
Fully explored, knowing no bounds.
Such satisfaction. Total pleasure.

Today, after many years and cups of finest teas, the fractures remain
Yet the fingers cannot feel them--
Superficial? Structural? Denial?

This morning I sip from the porcelain.
I sip quietly, meditating, pondering
Our finest such pleasures, the deepest sips that made
Us long for more.

I hold the delicate cup in my hands. I drink alone.
I remember what was and smile.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem



This Poems Story

My niece brought the gift of tea when she visited me in July. I love experiencing new teas. From that, well, I had to think about life and all its gifts.