Write as I do,
a poem like
pouring tea.
Quietly simmer,
let our knowing
remain encased.
Flavor lightly
with the warm blush
of our meeting,
let it not turn bitter.
Pour me the poem,
I will hold it in my palms,
Warmed by it
I will see the world
through its vapor.
I will not let the tea go cold
even if I drink slightly
afraid the poem
might scald my lips,
Drinking as the page drinks
the poem, the tea
leaving its stain.