and so it comes

He did not agree it was just a smell, because it had an undeniable flavour. He looked at his cup, sipped, and pondered about the possibility of tasting the cornflower, but its flavour was most probable to fade away quickly. Nevertheless, it was blue, and blue things, he thought, should not only have flavour but taste splendidly, like blue-marzipan or blue petals of any flower except, perhaps, oleander (although why should it taste poisonous?).
Every now and then a petal, or a leaf or two would find its way through the filters of the teapot to finally land on his tongue and he would press them against his palate with the tongue hoping to squeeze flavour out of it. He thought he could. And so he poured himself another cup with scientific accuracy, the teapot a scalpel, the cup a white mouse. He was serious about it for now it was time to think about the last weeks "events:" Monday night, an agressive yet delicate shooting star attack while waiting for a taxi; Wednesday lunch time, a horse in the frontyard; Sunday, a flying cat moving from north to southeast (it could have only been Antarticabound); last Tuesday, the iron fence behaved like a badly tuned T.V. channel -horizontally, not vertically.
The signs were many, the sudden reaction to Plath and cummings the previous afternoon was an example. He sipped again. The mystery was not that difficult to be discovered. However, this time something was not quite right for it was not like the other times, the horse was too shiny and stood there for too long and the minute shooting star had really blinded him. He needed to know if it was something new, or something different. Cornflower on the tip of his tongue. His mood could not have that influence, sometimes out of tiresome shadows passed by his peripheral vision. But he was fine now, and he had just hung up on the telephone without saying before that things were going pretty smoothly.
The tea and the thinking made him sleepy. He took a 5 hours nap.