She Brews Storms in Tea Cups


she brews storms

she brews storms in teacups
leaving lipstick stains
on crumpled faces of paper napkins,
after a clandestine kiss
for his wife to discover
where lukewarm bowls
of insipid soup witness their rows
undiluted by mellowed candle light.

storm in teacup

she gathers kohl stains
from crinkled indigo skies at night
to scatter over apple blossom dawns,
tainting radiance of mornings
with her splashes of espresso whimsy,
her mood swings imitate tempest
and she always discovers
cynical amusement in blowing
life’s predicaments out of proportion.

tempest in teacup

a drizzle is a tempest storm
a breeze a cyclone in the making,
she collects golden pollens from meads
to freckle flawless cerise
of aurora’s soft, radiant taffeta
a frown on his face
she must autopsy to build into rage,
she thrives on the dramatic
the superfluous must be made crucial
every day is an opportunity
to build mountains from molehills…

storm in teacup1


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