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Entry tags:
Royal Doulton
The wind's too cold to capture what I feel
in words that linger; words that could be lies.
The light stained apple-sharp is all that's real
enough to see by; this, then, meets my eyes.
A carpet stained with tea, the writhing steam
of which once filled your mouth; the cups lie all
in jigsaw shards like pieces of a dream.
Torn strips of lily green adorn the wall
and trap the cries, the endless seeping cold;
my breath is mist like steam twined through your hair
from copper-coloured tea. Your mouth once sold
me lies. The china fragments that lie there
show nothing left in these green rooms for me
but crying echoes; dreams; the smell of tea.
in words that linger; words that could be lies.
The light stained apple-sharp is all that's real
enough to see by; this, then, meets my eyes.
A carpet stained with tea, the writhing steam
of which once filled your mouth; the cups lie all
in jigsaw shards like pieces of a dream.
Torn strips of lily green adorn the wall
and trap the cries, the endless seeping cold;
my breath is mist like steam twined through your hair
from copper-coloured tea. Your mouth once sold
me lies. The china fragments that lie there
show nothing left in these green rooms for me
but crying echoes; dreams; the smell of tea.