I'm waiting for you in your glass of tea,

Like the ice about to melt,

Like the lemon wedge perched on the lip of the cup,

And I'm not the cause of that minuscule cut 

On your tongue,

But my extremities will demonstrate it

As a temporary imperfection,

And I'll be blamed.

So I wait silently,

One hand on hip,

The other up behind my head,
Like a pin up,

With my armpit hanging me,

Like a tiny umbrella 

In your martini.

But I cannot help smirking,

It's the only sign I've got left

That I'm animated at all.

-jenn