I love cups of tea like twigs signing to the air. Swinging to and fro with nothing to care. I like women and wooing them with cups of tea and woollen mittens to amuse them. They ask me to hold their fingertips as they shoot moonbeams from there lips. I like cups of tea that need to be caressed by rudimentary teeth on ruby lips. I like sipping cups of tea peacefully as I shape my hands around that ceramic and dream of rivers of jade. I like dreaming of celadon too as it reminds me of the emerald ring that I bought for you. Where I proposed to you in the coffee shop. Down the hall where the best mind knew the best friend I knew I had found my worst critic. I wish love could last as much as my liking for cups of tea. I like cups of tea because I love peace as angels sing and chant cantos in some silver Oak. Where we look for spring in the perennial winter. Your arms around are like winter twigs holding leaves that may fall soon. My memories are weak and a week old. My memories are frail and untold. I love cups of tea as you can tell from my hate for coffee.