Temper,Temper

I was somewhat taken aback by this dialogue - until I looked where the poem was posted, in Collaboration Central.  Now it all makes sense.  I did think Anstey's version had gone pretty far astream, but maybe mine has as well.  Either way, I enjoyed this exercise.  Thank you, Laurie, for letting us play with your words and vision.

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Soul breath, misting
On a tongueless lick of spoon

A belly aching, grumbling
With the sweetened monologue of need

O this thirst, this taste of hell and rage
Acerbic as a bitter pill, sweet as honey

Steeped in a lemon pout, this clink
Of porcelain, my swallowed steam

Of here and when, then and there, never
Drunk, these ticks and tocks

That swim in curses, this ghost of who
I am, a banshee, wailing for tea