"Zephyr"

Noises from the street filter through the crack in the doorjamb, Turkish melodies entice cups from saucers to lips. My tea smells sweet with licorice, a slow moving zephyr beneath my nose erasing the harsh decomp of the city. Each sip stronger than the last, autumn colored elixir brimming in unflawed white stone like an orgasm. The ecstasy of it surges my brain with memories, some floating back a delicious whispering in my ear, some stabbing in with the taste of nightmares. Aleathia Drehmer 2007