.:] Teacups [:.

Shards of porcelain
once held for me relief
and tension
of calm serenity

Endless moonless midnight
skies of open-eyed slumber
Afternoons of conversation and laughter
warming and endearing recollections
Evenings of intimacies and dark secrets
of life and the dreams it holds
Sunrising mornings of shared
quilted security with Sunday funnies

In my hands, I now hold
this teacup, a key away
from this life
A key to open the door
A key to the blood in my veins
and the lane to the dead.
Turn of the key, twisting quickly
silently
pouring
into a broken cup that can't
seem to hold much of anything anymore