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How can one be that obsessed with someone?
How could anyone in the whole world wake up one day
With the eagerness to see just one face for the rest of their life?
How could anyone grab oranges and not even think of eating them as soon as they touch their hands
Because they can’t think of anything else but getting home to share them with someone?
How, how, how?

Why do I feel like the sun is not bright enough if I don’t get to see your smile?
Why does chocolate taste like charcoal when I’m not eating it with you?
And why do I go out of my way to have the pillow always ready for your head,
Because I’m scared your thoughts might drift away and lie to your face about how beautiful you are?
Why, why, why?

What is it that makes me want to write you poems,
Even when the alphabet of my life is missing the letters y, o, and u?
What is it that screams at me to wash your shoes,
When mine look like dirt was made for them?
What is it that runs through my veins every time the stars you call eyes
Look through the cloth I call soul?
And I know it’s more than blood, and I know it’s more than love.

My love, how can someone beg for you
In the middle of the night, between the sheets of a broken work of art?
My Lord, how can someone love with such clouds and lilies in the park,
And chamomile tea in the morning, while you fill up my heart?
Sometimes I think I just write everything I wish someone would say to me
Kalliope Jun 30
I pick out my tea bags,
Sometimes two or three,
Steep them in hot water,
Letting them be.

Then I sift through my cabinets,
Searching with care,
For the best little items
My chai might wear.

I’ve already made sweet foam
To crown her with flair,
Maybe she'd like brown sugar
To melt in her hair.

Honeyed lace drips down-
Her favorite sweet,
She pairs well with maple,
Cinnamon makes her complete.

Deciding how we’ll dress her,
A very indecisive time,
Should she wear caramel today,
Or vanilla to rhyme?

Perhaps she’ll indulge,
Mixing both with a grin-
A drink dressed in luxury,
My soft comfort within.
Picking out the mug is another story...
Peter Balkus Jun 21
Peace is just a tea break
between wars.
Make sure you have a sip
before you have to go.
Gabbro May 13
White sands pile to form an island
Before dissolving in a deep cinnamon sea–
Dark and infused

The village, where I bought my first box
The gold, from the streetside, accenting
The steam, like incense on the bedside
And the mug, that you got me, for my birthday

Tea will always remind me of you,
I make a *** each day
For T
Kalmia lilies May 11
I'm drinking the tea that we used to drink
The tea that I'm now drinking with an other
The tea that we used to spill close to the sink
Every time I'll try to test the tea with someone else
But they hate it or acting weridly

I thought I could never take the tea without Him
I've wait so long, my tea was completely cold

Easily the Eight tried it, then adore it
Now we've drinking and talking about this tea
When the water is hot enough
I just put the infusion, blood starts to invade the cup
Thsi invasion starts in my heart too

Except, the taste isn't the same anymore
Now Red is everywhere
Nothing tastes like the beginning
Even my eyes start to close on Eight's Red flags

This acidic taste start to **** me off
I added sugar, more energy
But wait...
I'm blind, it doesn't taste like tea anymore

The flavours of my first tea with Eight start to reappear
The taste of his tongue too
The heath of his hands which travel my body
This poem is about the love i have for  tea and how i can compare my love life to the fact of drinking tea or spilling it. How people can impact everything around you even the simple act of drinking tea. But at the end of the day its just abt even though you add more energy in your relationship it can ruin it and then it doesn't feel the same anymore
Laura Apr 18
You envelop me
As if i'm a cup with a knocked off handle
i fit into Your velocity

Some unknown fingers stacked us into the same cabinet
The one used for the fancy kitchenware
The kind they would crack out when they want to impress

So i pray that they're not vapid as that
After all the greatest of virtues is depth
If they open this godforsaken shelf
They'll notice the flaws i carry on myself

Cracked rim and a missing grip
Damage that even self-love couldn't strip
Love is always more potent when coming from another heart
Porcelain is not as supple as a self-sustaining cat
That can lick the lumps of dirt from her wounded back apart

i heard that mangled cups go to waste
But i swear that i will tear through the trashbag and
Piece
By
Piece
Or shard
By
Shard
Crawl back between Your smooth curves
Your fingers on my face trace sharp swerves
The heat radiating from your nail beds
Soothes my vision of all possible reds

And i revel in your medicine
i desperately need to heal
Your ceramic skin is an effective insulator
The blisters i give You only urge your loving to grow greater

You don't seem to care that i don't have a handle to protect You from the scalding bitter tea
That washes up at my rim like the sea
No,You accept the imprint of my hellishly heated wounds onto You
Jhay Mar 23
Our cozy autumn doesn’t feel the same,
the leaves have rotted to bitter grays.
The smell of tea drowned by summers final rain.

Your subtle rage everytime you turn that page gives me goosebumps.

I can see it on your face, an icy glare
and winter's grace.

pumpkins lost in the haze, we could be up to nothing sipping lovely grey.

Embers burning off loose heat and faith.
Tender and estranged our feelings should be explained…

something, something, and what to say.
The gentle breeze on our slow decay,
maybe autumn's not so strange.
Room temp black tea,
Jingling house keys,
Little whispers of morning trees.

Quaint feeling of tranquility,
Walking among the preserved fall leaves,
A small nip of chill in the breeze.
There's something about a Monday morning.
It's a beautiful ***,
But wouldn't it benefit from some green?
I reckon you better start prepping that soil,
Because we're going to plant a tea tree!
Imagine how wonderful that would be,
Blossoming white flowers, a warm cup and bees.

Oh, imagine a garden full of bumble bees!
Buzzing about the perfect petals,
Pouring pollen into the breeze.
If only we had a garden,
We could sit and lunch,
Pastry, cheese, and the sweet drink from our tree!
Darling, while your out buying seed,
Would you grab a few more pots?
I'd put up a bird feeder and watch the come and go.
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