awaiting december

The world spins as my mind stirs

like a spoon,

chipping the rim of a china teacup. 

I have learnt anticipation

Can burn your tongue.

So, slow down.

let the coffee cool.

Smile at the simplicity of strangers;

There is good and hope

And worth within

I know it exists 

for its inside me,

Locked away by fear of failure,

In an antique cupboard

of cutlery unused.

I avowal to pry it open- 

tiresome of missed potential,

of strayed sweet afternoons.