tea

Dispassion, of water, 

It leaked upon my cup, 

But there I was collecting every last drop.

After all it was mine, it was all mine.

With the pour of a hand 

I can see the impression that it felt toward it

The cold barring water,

How it wished it could be heated.

So I let it

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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