Tea for none

Let us drink tea;
not from the common tea shop
where glances are stolen
like jewels from a miser,
or words are exchanged
like someone in a hurry,
making way through the crowd.
Let us have tea
at the table in my room
which has my typewriter
waiting for
the touch of your fingers,
and an orange
flower vase
that has flowers
of your liking.
And when the vase
falls on the floor
and gets shattered –
cutting your foot;
for the wind
blows strong
from the windows
of my room,
I will clean your wound
with my hands
holding a piece of white cotton
which I picked
from the departmental store
today.
Then, we will shut
the windows
and let out the bedsheets
that were soaked
in the sun
a day earlier.
You could stay
for a day,
two,
or three if you want,
while I compose
sonnets for you
and you
make
my muscles ache –
more bedsheets to be
soaked in the sun.

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