A letter forward, a lash-back word.
Under and over the leftover number.
And, of the letter four?
One day at the door I met a four,
As my forehead dented the floor of cement
With reasonable pain, aim decent,
Reverberated cerebrally to the corners.
Beginning at the zenith, vision dimmed
As it does at dawn, dusk and twilight;
The whole spectrum of colors went primary
Into the event horizon of a moonless night.
A thick, dark velvet and felt blackness all around.
Not one sound.
Saffron, ginger, chamomile left to boil and steep,
Soon were sipped and slipped between the lips,
While fingertips of flesh burned within the threshold of comfort.
‘Twas a cup of tea that pleased. |