The *** sat enthroned,
serene while concealing
the heated turmoil within.
Matching cups laid in wait,
straining against imposed patience,
anticipating the flow of flavour,
the afternoon pleasure
enveloped around the familiar ritual
of shared sweet-musk darjeeling,
while lemon slices rested, reclining,
indifferent but ready if needed.
-
I sat transfixed in Sunday best;
awaiting my slice of black forrest,
impervious to this most grown up delight.
Memories of afternoon tea and childish impatience.
