Scoffing at or scorning those boxes of tea?
Ha. Looking at all the different names of the teas,
and all the different promises they earnestly proffer us,
then comes another section of Murphy's Immutable Laws,
certain as sunshine, this one Chapter Number "Comeuppance,"
as the cough gets more noticeable, tickling a bit more abrasively,
until the memory tickles in another direction, remembering relief offered,
in a yellow box in a huge bag filled with all kinds of healing teas, and yes,
there definitely was one for easing throat challenges, yes, I remember it for sure.
As soon as this holiday bag is hauled down by hydraulic angling and declension effect,
just as the sides of the bag separate like flab on a fat person, waves of fat rolling down,
the waves of boxes in the bag all tumbling over one another like a dozen intertwined puppies,
each barking its own individual appeal, offering to solve another of our oh-so personal imbalances,
filling another gap in the personality defects that we never got around to, eased by the sight, the smell,
the redolent aroma of the healing natural steams and vapors wafting into the nostrils with instant relief,
and all because of the thoughts and actions and time, the resources and effort and most of all, desire to do so,
bringing those healing energies from hand-picked fields around the world into a single mug next to my bed,
and all of that energy, remoistened and revitalized at two hundred and twelve or so degrees, expanding,
literally bursting out of the mug with showers of tiny sparks of energy, too small to see,
not too small to smell and feel, nostrils drinking as greedily as the throat,
waves of grateful quenching of the need, and the coughing is gone,
gone along with the scoffing at the idea of having so many teas.
While not wanting to soon again be the owner of such largesse,
this excess of teabaggery unprecedented and unrepeateable,
for, like a first kiss, such perfection comes but once,
it is still as if you're a real, actual angel, my own,
sent to fix what we can to fulfill a destiny,
Each challenge that comes along to delay,
you have wiped it away with warm smiles.
If there's no such thing as perfection,
then you're as close as people can be.
I have danced with my angel tonight,
and words can't express the sparks.
hands gifted with unlimited warmth,
finger cooking as only angels can.
How else can we explain
the perfection in you.
A wonderful tea party
concluded in peace,
and eased throat.
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This page is about delicious teas, a MisterShortcut love story told in cryptic poetry,
all part of the foundations of the Best Path To Longevity, with the Godfather of EyeCandy.
MisterShortcut brought this story of delicious teas, because teas can be a great gift of love,
expressing concern and caring, nurturing and the transference not only of specific acts of love,
as well, the transference of the physical energy that all love possesses and generates, here in poetry.
When we appreciate that poetry is flexible, and enjoys the license of self-expression, the reader must look.
Poetry doesn't always have to rhyme, but if you want to tell a story about delicious teas,
and you want to suffuse those delicious teas with love, the end result is pure healing.
That it's wrapped up in an enigmatic love story just adds to the poetry of these teas,
because this is one love story that enjoys happy endings every day it lives on.
When you learn to read between the lines, greater comprehension follows.
In this case, delicious teas, the warmest of love and affections,
wrapped up in the poetry of love, however un-metered,
combine to reveal the love story between the lines.
Welcome to the love section of a favored site,
the Best Path To Longevity.