As we sit, just you and me, about to contemplate over a cup of tea, what is it that will be? An eye meets an eye, a gesture of conjecture, we witness the beauty of a you and an I. Steam rises, scents surmising, a thought does flicker forth. A sigh is felt, laughter smelt, the dealings of volleying cased.
We raise a toast when level’s most does begin the venture coast. A human being before me gleaming the memory of a holy ghost. A mirror’s reflection of injection does touch my inner heart. Bounced back in unknowing, the utter flowing, of love in its simplest most. The touch of a conversation yost.
A painting in motion set upon a notion matching eyes do see. From where thee be sits another free to exchange the latter’s smat. Talk of that makes fact for fact of matter’s that. Yet there thee be despite the smatter’s clat, a four leafed clover beholden.
What do we take of granted smitten of the gift of another glinted? The sparkly swirl of sound waves whirled from a sourced brush tip. The echoing harmonics from sure phonics are felt as cilia sense. A silly sense amiss from this we cannot diss the gist of sunlight mist.
Yet there before we find a shore which our waves are handled and adored. An ocean begins and an ocean ends, each breaking sands mix their grains from distant lands. Like a ping and a pong our gong echos on from the mallet of another’s swing. The song makes long our ever moment gone without malice of a mixture, it is a fixture. A musting fix, a justing mix.
Basic before the evermore, a tea leaf sits soakened. Its job forgotten, the vollies rotten, smiles do sit forth. A you and a me, I write of thee, a symohony of colored light. How else can I see the miracle of me without you before my sight? The might, the fright, the right, the smite, the night, the light of mirror’s bright. A cup of tea, just you and me, with that I bid goodnight.
Zoltan Blue 