Teacups

I am like fine china
under the trembling lips of wilting ladies
I hear their heavy secrets as they raise me
to their open mouths
They leave kisses on my edges
staining me crimson
I fill up and over with their thirsts
their desert mouths.

Sugar-white and hand-polished
by the callous hands of ruddy maids
They trace the cracks that curve
along my surface like an eyelash
“Make a wish”
one says

But I am full of wishes.
Wishes and heartache and the rain
that traverse a lace tablecloth
fringed by smiling ladies
In the summertime their lips bead with sweat
and I taste their manic salt
Still and silent
while they whisper behind lace fans
that beat like butterfly wings.

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2 thoughts on “Teacups

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