Thursday, December 15, 2005
A Languid Cup of Tea
Your passion is my pleasure
Your desires served at leisure
Your hands coil round that treasure
Yes - a languid cup to sip.
In these tea rooms they bewail,
The lack of pies and rustic ale,
While all those ladies quiver frail,
For that slice of cake you bit.
You know I crave this most,
To spread butter on your toast,
Among the condiments to coast,
For that moment marmalade.
With those fine white pearly teeth,
You'll provide me with relief,
And restore my lost belief:
The crunch of teeth relayed.
You can reach across to grasp,
Biscuits firmly in your clasp
With a warm vivacious laugh,
By those lips moistly defined.
I would love to plant a kiss,
But such behaviour is amiss,
And would have me soon dismissed
From the table of your mind.
*
Copyright; Mir
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