Words tend to dissolve in tea

And I’ve found they often rise with the steam

My lungs breath then in you see

Leaving words to sprout in me

 

But I’ve found that with my lungs so full

I may never speak these words I know.

 

And tangled in a mangled mass

The flowers grow

As thoughts move pass

 

Veins pressing through my fingers tips

To help with the will to breath

As weeds take root and alter me

 

So I swallow the sea

With art and muse

To find the blossom

I have to use

 

 Trailing through dirt

That ways down my breath

I turn over an overgrown posy

Wondering if I’ve used it yet

 

Green steps up to my eyes

With a slice of the past

And cuts the old the stems, to make room for the seeds planted last

 

 The tea will burn  if it goes down my throat,

So I inhale the steam for all these words wrote.