was that mercury you dolloped
by the teaspoon brimming
into the cup of my tempest teeming?
I have sipped on a brew
Weltschmerz steeped in introversion
while trouble boils and toils double
in churning unplumbed depths.
did you misapprehend my clime
striding presumptuous as you did
through the dead of my hurricane’s eye?
you skew the heated misconstrue
as my oft-bitten tongue scalds
on steaming leaves of fate infusion.
teapot not, though short and spouty
I whistle through cycles of cyclonic vision
salting the trail of your sluggish bluster
look out, quicksilver!
I’m on your tail
Aurora Phoenix is a wordsmithing oxymoron. Staid suburbanite cloaks a badass warrior wielding weapon grade phrases. Read more of her confabulations at Insights from “Inside.”