Sunday afternoons with smoke from incense and steam from tea

As the smoke from the incense
Interweave with the steam
Of the newly brewed tea
And the sun sets in the distance,
Emitting an orange light
Which wraps the world in a glowing light
Coordinating with my misty room
I think of no one in particular
For I have no one in particular to think of
Instead I pick down from a shelf
My favourite book,
Open the cover
And fall down through the pages
To the circus in which I wish I could live
Or to space, to distant lands
Where adventures roam everyday
But as I am there,
Just where I want to be,
A sudden, loud bang
Reaches my ears
And I am yanked back from the world of the book
To my dull, ordinary room
Thinking of no one in particular
As the sun disappears beyond the horizon
Leaving the world in darkness
The tea cup stands empty
The incense burnt out.