paper

my cup of tea

when the night is steeped in lost seconds and memories, and my breathing harsh against the backdrop of silence, i think about you. it is three fifty eight AM but the vigour of the day hasn't caught up to me yet. i haven't slept properly in three days-or was it three weeks? there is hardly meaning in tracking the seconds when twenty four hours wink by in a flash, and as i settle against the couch, willing myself to sleep, i regret touching you. burning skin and stormy eyes, i am one shipwreck in your string of many, tossed up onto shore half battered and beached, dreaming of sailing free into the blue yonder. i still yearn for you just like how sailors do, unable to steady myself on land with my sea legs. you are sirens sounding and bitter tea with three cubes of lingering touches and ghosting whispers, fuelled by the caffeine of lost hopes boiled in broken promises and scathing lies. i much prefer the tang of scalding coffee now.