The steam rising off the surface should have been sufficient warning but still I move my lips closer to sip.
The reward for my ignorance is searing pain
And a blandness brought by the heat
And a phantom fuzz on my tongue.
“It’s too hot,” I say to the nothing about me
Its silence signals its sympathy
And together we blow a hurricane across the pale scalding liquid
And send waves against the distant paper shore
And I move my lips closer again
Once again ignoring the steam
This time anticipating the heat