she started the milk whisking machine and I thought,
who knew such raspy violent stirring
would produce fog so light and creamy.
warm fog lovewrapped steeping.


you encased in departures,
me stepping out arrivals,
a turbulent, foamy sky between

tangy swirls.
bergamot is a reminder we are apart.

longing-laced uncertainty
in a cup
i tasted today.

I hold our distance inside me.

Posted by:jasmine

Jasmine is an editor, poet, and community arts organizer. She comes to poetry by way of Chinese music. This blog is a mapping of ways.

2 replies on “Day 3: Fog

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