is this a poem
about tea, how it burns
when the lips are too eager
*
fennel, chicory, cardamom—
it always smells sweeter
than it tastes
*
the bottom of the cup,
the bottom of my thirst—
these are never the same
*
Darjeeling, Darjeeling—
ask me if I’d like some so
I might tell you yes, yes
*
tell me the truth
I say to the tea leaves, but
I don’t ask my real question