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You were lavender tea
Steaming in my hands,
The sprawling violet sea
Dancing in my lips,
Ground fresh chai leaves
Rolling along my Silk Road,
While ‘Because the Night’
played in the background.
When the air got still
in our tea ceremony,
the sound of the Nordzee golven
could be heard.
In the mountainless Koksijde,
Your tea kisses took us to altitudes
Higher than the ivory tower we lied in.
Your opal eyes shined in the dark
of my Sahara attic,
Where I – a tea-picker –
Held your leaf-fingers in my
Boiling palms.