Tea Leaf

Nostalgia was her favorite word-
So wishful of a past in order to protect her burnt heart from crumbling.
Her stories hold her together.
So sweet,
Today, I smelled her.
Months after she left I realized she lingers in my tea cup.
She swirls around my feet, sifting gently through my teeth.
She dances like the steam and would never screamed like the tea pot.
She was my soft spot.
Soft spoken but needing to be heard
        So reactive,
                   Word-conscious,
                           A deep-hearted tear welcomer.
Beneath the darkness of my eye lids, I see her.
Golden brown and glistening.
Sweaty brow and morning-breathed.
Her breath rose with her chest and I rested,
Bare bodied,
And barely aware of our end.
She was my tea leaf.
Although she remains only as a ring around what we both used to sip,
Her smell will always hit my nose with grace as I lace my fingers around my mug
Like I used to do her waste…
And breathe her in,
Enjoying how sweet my past tastes.

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