I wish that I could

feel you like the steeping of

my tea leaves; diffuse

you into my veins. Sadly,

I’m not worth your precious time.

 

You are quixotic.

A true water color tat-

too that is stained

underneath my porcelain

capillaries. All is fair

 

when talking over

peach tea- your favorite. Steep

yourself into sun

kissed white, opaque teacups from

my grandmum.  I am verbose.