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In willow-pattern white are
reflections chipped in glossy clouds.
The dragon coils around the handle
aging but not maturing,
bathed in dust
at the backs of cupboards
dreaming of yesterday’s tea leaves,
fortunes read and discarded.
©2006-2010 ~Celenai
:iconcelenai:

Author's Comments

Remix.

:heart: *zan-zan*

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:iconbeyondinsanity:
I enoyed this ^^ it was very good :D

--
- I took a shortcut through blood just to get to you -
:iconnightsniperwolf:
Nice, see usally I dont pay any attention to your poems :( sorry but i have to say, you do make nice ones. It's good but short :p

Keep it up celia, :)

NSW
:iconcelenai:
:D Thanks sweetheart.

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<Déesse Diabolique> maquina de matar [fleur de lys]
:iconcelenai:
*nods head*

--
<Déesse Diabolique> maquina de matar [fleur de lys]
:iconnightsniperwolf:
eh I dun get..hehe..:P

NSW
:iconbeyondinsanity:
Your welcome ^^

--
- I took a shortcut through blood just to get to you -
:iconspamuel:
pretty cool -- unusual too. :)

--
The Moving Finger writes, and, having writ,
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears blot out a Word of it.
:iconcelenai:
Why thank you, my JD loving friend. :D

--
<Déesse Diabolique> maquina de matar [fleur de lys]
:iconscathach:
oooh, nice piece. a quaint one of yours i feel, yet it draws me into the image of the cup and the past of it nonetheless. good work, as always. ~Kay

Details

April 4, 2006
352 bytes
10.7 KB
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