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devotion by Nyx Lewis-Schmidt


they take their tea in the dusk like vespers

steam rising to rebuke the chill

the mug is chipped and blue and their favorite

because it reminds them of you and the way

your fingers curled around it

and holding it is almost like holding your hand

they drink it in like a hymn, bittersweet harmonies

scalding their tongue–you always said they drank it

too fast–and it tastes of you, of the hollow of your throat,

of the flesh of your thighs, of your kiss-flushed lips

they drink it with too much honey, decadent

and rich, because that’s the way you made it for them

so you could steal saccharine sips, curled into their side

in the warm glow of the single shadeless lamp

the tea is gone too quickly, warmth fading from fired clay

but they do not linger, only wash the mug and set it aside

for tomorrow, and climb into bed, shivering in the cold sheets.

1 Comment

Sep 29, 2023

I love the image: "steam rising to rebuke the chill..."

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