scones still nestled like babies in baskets

empty teacups but pots full-- such waste

removing the butter she held onto the lid

crystal and apt to slip like secretive thoughts

no, he was never hers and how could he be?

the rose embroidered tablecoth she stitched

with those same hands that served his wife

full of crumbs and left all over like her tears

he shared with wife both lilacs and daisies

the petals she'd catch in her hands when they left

scattering them in the lining of her pockets

to inhale at night between the silk of her sheets

she would kiss his lips through the thin fabric

once he left the bed that he shared with another

his body lying heavy atop her wildest of dreams

pink petals fall beneath his departing bare feet

other such afternoon teas would come too soon

serving them underneath the cherry blossom tree

much yet to be done in this waiting and waiting

invisible in the rain and the scent of honeysuckle