Tea

“Tea” Steam pouring forward, perhaps captured with the cold air of time To be forgotten and lost Blown away too quick to be tangible Gentle momentum but me Not so Not even the steam ringing from hot tea Whiskers of cinnamon promise fulfillment Spikes of ice hot cut it short Forevermore longing to be Something more then hot tea taken on an unforgiving night Bound for nothing Bound for black and quiet Only for a moment to be thought of a graceful dance guided with wind And even I To be known only to be lost And to have been something For it to lack with the persistence of time Afore loved is always a burden that carries deep into the roots of a being Although to be named cold air Is still to be named Carries with it a reluctance to reminisce The cold air