Destruction, and the ability of the world to continue.

It is morning, around ten.
My pot of tea
Sits unassumingly next to my cup
and saucer.

A sugar cube rests
on my saucer,
white,
sparkling like the sand
on a perfect beach.

I drop it into my cup.
It sits,
askew,
waiting.

Lifting my pot of tea
and tipping it
I release a maelstrom of heat
and wet
wiping the sugar cube away
leaving brown tea.
Sweet,
sweet brown tea.

The steam rises
from the brown tea,
and the news
comes on CBC.

Musings 1

A small point of light
Shines in the corner of the room.
                                                  The rest of the room is dark.
                              The light is
                                             Yellow
                                           Sharp
                                         Indistinct
                                                  Because I'm not wearing my glasses

It doesn't light up anything else in the room.
It's a solitary light,
A light that is not
Prone to sharing

And I wonder
                                                  Does light
                                                  Go to kindergarten?

Shiraz Cab

From the moment I pop the cork
Smell
And pour the first glass                Love the colour.
I know what to expect from a Shiraz.

Full.
Powerful.
Always a little peppery
Hitting me in the eyes.

You're the same way.
You hit me in the eyes            Love the way you look
And the way you walk
talk
and touch me
are full of power
confidence
and beauty.

But just like a Shiraz
I love you
but I can't stand you.

Me/You

Me
light
a little frothy
awkward
like a latte in a bowl that is too big

You
darker
bitter
but smooth
like chocolate in a crinkled wrapper