Hot Beverage

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

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