Midnight tea

It’s the bewitching hour.
I look out my window- see no witches-
And carry on with my tea making.
I’m boiling the water
To create a potion
And a long serenade for my throat.
I pour the water over the tea leaves
by love, cotton, and a staple gun.
My tea bag speaks to me
With a quote.
“Let the heart guide you” it harks.
I squeeze the juices with a spoon out of my
Warm, herbal, mocking
Lost relative of the fortune cookie
While truly searching for its voice.
My heart is beating,
mended by Krazy glue
I think I’ll follow the gps instead.

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