You sip your tea
Staring at a sky that looks so different
As September dies in the distance
Setting as a marker for your indecision
Perhaps more honey
Sticky sweet memories
Sensations for a tongue
Silent
Numbed
Tasteless
Nothing satisfies
Craving bitter dregs instead
As twilight turns to evening
The cup is resting on the table
And the night looks so different
As November’s waiting to be born
Somewhere in the world she lives already
Premature to your reality
She exists five hours ahead
As I try to catch up to nothing
Time is a demon
Walking to the back door
Stepping into the kitchen
It looks so different now
To my right the living room is empty
No furniture to speak of
Boxes of another life
Piled in the corner
Books and other people’s dreams
Stories never read
Poems to strangers
Collections of wasted time
Notebooks filled with self-indulgence
Lovers, ghosts, and fantasies
Nothing to build a life upon
Words as wedges, walls and bridges
Words as match heads
Sparking flames of love
Flames of anger
Fires of passion
Of poison
Of nonsense
Burning down
To embers
To nothing
Leaving only ashes that get caught up
With Autumn breezes
Blown as kisses
From the lips of distant lovers
The taste of tea and honey lingers
As nothing special
Only as something to do
A ritual of habit such as sleep
I awake to November
She was up before the dawn
Stepping outside the air is chill
A cold cup resting
On a table of my discontent
Half empty and tasteless
Useless
Wasted
Staring at the dark of morning
My life is so different now
The sun rises and looks
The same as when it sets
I walk back into the kitchen
And make another cup of tea

TM DiSarro

©2021 TM DiSarro / MindScapes Publishing

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