My Heart is like a Used T-Bag

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♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

My heart is like a used t-bag
Squeezed dry with a silver spoon
Plopped on a lingering saucer
To be wanged at the compost heap of doom.
 ♥
My heart is like a bluebird cup
An empty saddened stoneware vessel
Precariously perched in a
Tower of Pisa lurch
given to you by your Uncle Cecil.
 
My heart is not what I’ve just written
What I’ve written is just a lie.
My heart is actually a boiling kettle
That must never be boiled dry.
My heart is now a cup of tea
Using all the three above.
Warm and wet
for thee always
and always poured with love.
(may contain milk or sugar or nuts)
Photo taken by me in the Cafe at the IKON gallery in Brum.

© Catherine Crosswell
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