I would like to think that the worst is behind me. Or that the storm is over, though the clouds haven't faded away. Now that I can bear to smile, it's time for some of my 'work'.
The bitter tea seems to quench my thirst.
My tongue contracts with the awful absence of sugar.
So sweet the foreign aspect tasted.
Shall I return home?
Give into the familiar fullness of pleasure?
Or inure myself.
Inure myself to the brutal antics of such sharp edges?
I flex my mouth to push the waters in and out through my nerves.
Such a feeling I don't deserve.
I let go of the glass.
The taste seems to harass me.
It grips and won't let go.
I smile, but quickly let it fold.
No surface can I expose if I want to hold on to this moment.
I throw my head back in near ecstasy.
My feet slide in such slow, parallel positions.
It all seems to fit.
The muscles between my le-
"Ma'am. Would you like more tea?"