Drinking chamomile tea,
I think of you
and all the times
my soothing hands
held that oil,
guided it into
your smooth flesh,
your tensed muscles,
easing, relaxing you,
settling you
in a loving lethargy.
Drinking chamomile tea,
I think of you,
laughing and playing
in the Mississippi River,
splashing me
splashing you.
I tasted chamomile
in you when we kissed;
I licked my lips to savor it
as we lay,
watching the sky,
painting the clouds.
Drinking chamomile tea,
I think of you
and our trip to Scotland;
we ran through the moors,
through worlds long gone,
and silently witnessed
the dance of grey ghosts
in the morning fogs.
Drinking chamomile tea,
I think of you,
our times together,
running rampant
in my house or yours,
the whole world trapped
outside our walls;
whatever we did –
pillow-fought, tickled,
talked, or drank –
intimacy was there,
carried by that scent.
Drinking camomile tea,
I think of you,
our passionate kisses
and lingering embraces
each a crash
of separate, similar souls.
I look at the clock;
realizing we’ll soon be together again,
my heart smiles
as I think of you,
drinking camomile tea.
July 22, 1998
©PCB 1998
Twilight Greyce 