lukewarm

There is a crack in your china teacup.
It sits on the table between us
like the wall that you've built over time.
Your silence fills the room with unwanted noise
and it distracts me from the morning paper.
The lukewarm tea fills the saucer,
but you don't notice until
it fills the bottom and begins to spill over.
The puddle beneath our feet
reflects the look in your eyes
that makes mornings unpleasant.