“The louder he talked of his honor, the faster we counted our spoons.” – Emerson
…
First we number them mad
-ly, badly, knowing a few
……………………..(achoo)
are sure to go missing. We
scoop s(p)un
sugars of every hue,
measure life in coffee, too soon
poured out as an aching
umber sea.
Add a glint of looking
glass or two, a sprig of jasmine,
jade, a jangle
of lies swayed to
-ward morning. Learn how
many licks it takes to get to the
center, then leave
just one or two
too early.
We’ve heard
etchings are the safest
way toward order;
perhaps we will en
-grave ourselves weightless,
find our
-selves,
………..stirred.
..
prompted by Quickly.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
A lovely elaboration on the prompt.
Oh goodness…”find ourselves stirred,” yes, please. Love your response, De! 🙂
I like how you space your sentences
leaving us hanging to think
our different thoughts.
Thanks for stopping by…got any extra buried silver? 🙂
Not to worry if you’ve etched it, as it will be melted down anyway.
“numb(h)er mad, … sun [that’s a verb] sugars of every hue, measure life in coffee, … Add a glint of looking … ass or two, a spri(n)g [jump] of jasmine, jade, a jangle (bangle), … lick … etchings, … en-grave … weight … less-[let’s]find … a s(w)poon.”
edit:
“numb(h)er mad(e)”
You catch the anxiety of what to do with the spoons well. “aching / umber sea” – love that. “stirred” is great as well !