We shared a cup of tea, she and I.
No milk, no sugar,
no honeycoated words to weaken the taste of departure.
We were connoisseurs, and well acquainted
with the many blends of coming change.
Understanding kept us mute, our ceremony quiet
as we stirred the aging, aromatic leaves.

+++

We drank darjeeling once,
when the grass was frost-glamourous
and our eyes danced a dawn tango.
She wore red; I read her Blake's secret;
and we smiled over brimming cups.

'Your eyes are earl grey' I whispered,
when a mountain's shadow embraced us
and day turned into dusk into her eyes
as rain waltzed all around, enchanting,
to the scattered orchestra of rustling leaves.
We danced then, she and I.

+++

I share some cooling tea with her memory.
No milk, no sugar,
no passing of the spoon in ritual comfort.
I am a connoisseur, and well acquainted
with the aching thoughts found in an empty cup.