The red glove was appealing

Despite its unfitted size

My hand waited for storming

Each part of its sweet space

Gloves are needed

When time is cold

Hearts always bleed

When love is gone

Each one of my finger

Slightly rose to the tissue

Fears melted to snow

On a fainted posture

Drops of tea and hidden smile

Is all that remains

Hot liquid brightened the hour

Made a scar through the glove

I tilted and decided

That the flavour was bitter

Enough to show up my own skin

Between the grim lines

Oh familiar acquaintances

I leave you – no trace.

Unfairly the red glove

Put a spell into this cup of tea.

Red wine would have led my hands to darker places.

No pain no gain.

27/01/2019