Tea Leaves

on occasion
there was, I recall

With attention
— dare I mention —
to the most primal instinct of all

But love
what of love
thusly, here the poem ends

For one cannot
and one ought not
use, abuse, and pretend


We will see those leaves
Dance and shimmer again
Playful and meaning business alike

Wistfully, we’ll watch them bud then bloom
And be reminded 
We are promised the seasons

The Oboe said so


I would likely just watch you a lot 

Approach you from time to time, I may

To touch and make certain you’re real

With words and sentiment fully spent

What more need be said

That leaves, fire, and ink have not already uttered