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High Tea

The arrangement of cookies and honey wafers was nearly bursting with provident beauty. Tea from the roots of domestic cactus arrays and in bouquets of attar and raspberry. The fate of a celebrated transport, dreams of high tea and valued curtseys of pregnant esteem; the flesh needs the indulgence of insurgent thirsts and unfettered savor.

He tapped his finger in thoughtful impulse against the saucer. A champion spirit, a tendency to flavored forecast. He pondered and in vagabond , bohemian tatters of vision, compiled an amorphous collage of brilliance. Chaste balances of cookie magnificence and crunching limbos of thrilling hungry rapture. He smiled as he thought of irony in irony, tea and cookies at the hour of infamy, the moment of cauldrons begat by saucers of ancient purchase. The cure for all of mankind, he sipped the cactus tea and in mystifying bounty repeated the motion in ethereal graces of tasteful, undaunted joy.

The table melted away and the angel in evanescent breaths of relief cast the shadow of a divine conclave.

The angel had fielded his human guise for the pleasure of tea and cookies. He enjoyed his professed bond of high tea in companion seas of heavenly thirst quenched by the guardianship of passage to Eden.

Story by:

Ron Koppelberger

submitted at 11:15am

26 October 2010