It’s always time for tea, and when I looked

at you, that one time in October, while I

felt discomfited, I thought about black tea

and strange girls, the only ones I have ever

known, trance-like faces and eyes, terrors

gripped inside woven fabrics, mixed mesh

melded into colors – unnatural – tattooed like

bikers, and foulmouthed like trash day, but their

beauty beatified, saints and sinners grow up,

and on my lap I waited for them to return,

for their eyes to discover how you move, how

you choose to live, we accepted it, we knew

it was what you knew, I suggested we part,

after all, it wasn’t right, your object filled,

new found sex, but tea was always on my

mind, girls like you liked tea, and I knew

at coffee in the morning, I would put the pot

on, to see you sip oddly, just like…