A Sip of Tea

A Sip of Tea

last night he served tea so sensual it should have been censored

played and touched by the tip of my tongue

it rolled in my mouth like a French-born kiss

no anticipation of anything coming

it was enough in itself

white-tipped leaves in a blanket of simmering water

were coaxed to reveal their essence of self

served in a simple cup of ceramic

warmed by the tea and his hands

from which I cradled his gift

the faintest steam rose and invited the senses

a hint of green and a bitter-sweet smell

I answered and sipped a few drops

that spread to embrace my tongue

and caressed me body and soul

with fullness and silk sheet sensations

of nights that will never be

I lowered the cup

the memory lingers

compressed in a sip of tea