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
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