Four tea cups lay unattended since Mittag
– On the black, bedraggled table in the canteen.
You and I – drinking each other in—
Slow, dainty sips.
Each tea cup is empty and ready to be refilled
But you don’t.
Instead, you play with it.
Your fingers hold them with dexterity – unforgiving,
Entangling,
Timorously masking the quarks and leptons of emotions camouflaged—
Within the empty tea cup.
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