Assam

Oh, like tea,
do you remember the ice-thin china,
sharp on the lips and sweet-cream milk,
in rich Assam, large flake
bitter and dark in the transparent pot
brown breath astringent universe,
like seas of people seeking love
in rust-iron skies of a warm Autumn storm.

I tasted my lips, and yours,
and we sipped and silent smiled at the calm day,
and every October floss cloud paused,
then cracked, and pulled in wisps away.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.