The cup
It’s chipped
With pinked painted rosebuds
And twisting vines
A teacup
Tastes like lemon and honey
Steeped together
Warm and fragrant
Wafting upwards
Curling beneath your nose
Take a sip
Of bitter and sweet
Soothing your throat
a sigh from your lips
Bringing you closer
To that softly glowing core
That ember
The knowing
The steeping and sinking
The grounding and growing
The being
The being human
The sitting in silence
drinking the joy & the grief
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