Mismatched Mugs
When all was resolved without uttering a word
We were in the kitchen
Like steam rising from the kettle
your whisper might have vanished
But I caught it hurriedly
As if a precious thing were slipping from my grasp
It was: "Find me"
But I was surprised
you were beside me
Why search?
You looked at two mismatched mugs
I understood and hugged you
I replaced mugs with two matching cups
You poured tea into them
We smiled with our first sips
You looked at the dustbin
As if saying you discarded the dust of the heart into it!
About the Creator
Fly Alone
Hello! I am a poet and writer. I write whatever comes in my mind.
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His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress4 days ago in Poets
The Great Uncoupling of 2229
“I realize there are still aspects of humanity that my kind cannot understand or appreciate….” The soft, airy voice resonating from the orb that trailed Teyhx through the hallway of her dorm pleaded with her to see reason. Though, ultimately, the decision was not hers anyways.
By Adam Clost3 days ago in Futurism
Comments (4)
Your poem beautifully portrays a moment of connection, understanding, and the potential for healing, thank you very much for sharing, love your works, hope to read more, subscribed.
nice
Beautiful poem
Beautiful poem!