Tears

 An abysmal afternoon cools into nightfall,
and dregs line the rim of a barely held cup.
Whispering into a trickle,

Dregs scuttle and flow like leaves do, cantering in the wind,

Relieved from an anchored sac,
as everywhere else saucily submerges
and life spills, spills, spills,

The residue of the life that poisoned my tea
and though privy I am to its flavour
and that strong infusion that stagnates my tongue
balanced perfectly whetted on the tips of the highest pores

The way these eyes drink,
as life spills spills spills
lying like an open wound
before back into life I seep,

and somehow I am surprised by this all.