You slung steaming water into the mug,
A collection of ceramic warmth;
Hues of clay reds and milky browns –
Your hair behind an ear,
Mug held in one hand,
Kettle in the other.
You’re sweet in my mind, honey in earl grey,
but you were cruel when you yelled.
(Maybe black tea today).
Tea without honey’s haunting,
Warming but not warm.
Honey haunted me after she left,
Sticky sweet as I struggled with the jar.
I washed my hands over and over
But the honey remained the same.
Now tea struggles with me. Water spills,
Drips onto the counter, onto the stove.
Tea with honey can be forgotten today.
The tea’s turned with time,
But honey lingers.