Two mugs, filled and steaming.
Earl Grey tea, steeped for five minutes.
Mugs placed eight inches apart.
Four shortbread biscuits, sans gluten.
Two teaspoons of raspberry jam, two teaspoons of lemon curd.
One raspberry-topped biscuit and one lemon-topped beside my mug.
The remaining two next to yours.
I burnt my tongue taking the first sip.
The biscuits were buttery and sweet, tart and delicious.
Your tea grew cold
And your biscuits grew stale.
A dream when I was a kid
House made of my favourite biscuits
Like a normal brick house
There was a door and windows
Can have one when I wish
Filling the gap with another one
Only me, the owner can have
The innumerable biscuits of my wish
Hot coffee, the best friend of biscuits
Was given permission to
Join me in my biscuit house
Sitting on a chair with a plate of biscuits
Dipping one by one in my cup of coffee
Admiring my biscuit house with a twinkle !
You used to tease me about my fat-pants.
One button too tight, so I didn’t eat the biscuits.
I don’t eat the biscuits anymore.
Because they remind me of the taste in my mouth,
When I heard about you
And the crash
And the fact that you’re gone.