Been keeping the lid on it,  tempest in the teapot that I am !

Fretting over the tepidity of violet frictions and ancient insipids steeped,  the tea-leaves are simmered to the bowls’ fine lining; pour me a cuppa your strange brew, peach and honey infused for centuries to this single finely chinked china cup, a chalice to incarnations imbibed and life’s elixers steamed to amused prophecy:

exilhirate in how little you still know.

~ ~ ~

I’ve been simmered, brewed and stewed in my two leaves,

the one that’s tawny burnished to antiquities

and the one that greenly springs porcelain to life,

no cracks, no dents, no smithereens.