Mint tea

Sunday morning in London dew
As silent as a coral reef
And as sweet as 'goodness gracious me'

Waking up to the sound of mint tea
Stretching in slow motion
life lezards in the languid music and languages of the Mediterranea
bringing in heady aroma of spices over the market hustle
An old man is following his cane
My mind is lolling and easing into a lazy mood

When the bitter aftertaste hits my throat
You are not with me
My palate long for that sweet freshness
Like my head starves for your sight
I drink some more
And as long as the pot isn't empty
There is a hope of enjoying your intimacy
And the delicate moments when I miss you.