Drinkability

A fresh hello
Said with the enthusiasm of a full days worth of stories behind it

Stories of wondering and wandering through
Elements taken in and exhaled out,
Of talon air untamed by inhabitants of “civil” demeanor
Of the seeds planted by the sun in the skin
unknowingly growing until sweet discovery is found in reflection

Stories, which couldn’t have been told at any.other.time.but now.
to speak in music-
to hear the piano’s jazz
Sing its blue notes that land like raindrops,
Beautiful in their rapid inconsistency,

We share; the jazz plays and plays.
Plays feelings as stable as driftwood afloat
Feelings that shrink and swell with desire

Tapping out notes
that pool into an ocean,
who’s coastline view I can tell is
so darn pleasing for your ear to see
because your expression reflects back at me
brighter than the water reflects back at the sun.

Eccentric jazz played through lips more enticing than you might think
with a voice so boisterous and sweetly singing
those forgotten notes; those unspoken thoughts
that milk through our veins and seep recklessly out our pours.

Through this undefinable melody
We are coerced to know that a tea’s drinkability
Is co-equal to one’s own thinkability/understandability/love(a)bility?

That this search of perfection in tea and in love
could only produce a moment –no longer-
Of strong, piping hot, and well steeped Love and Intellect
Before the feeling, in it's steaming conduction, cools and the taste becomes bitter.

But the jazz so fondly found will play on
(in laughter and in mind)
through night’s silence.