There's tea brewing in the kitchen
that may or may not be ready.
I haven't heard that proverbial whistle
yet.

You introduced me to Oolong tea
a few years ago at that cafe downtown.
You drew me a picture of a sad boy
in a collared shirt and unkempt hair.

You said it was me.

I drew you a picture of a butterfly
with a beautiful wing pattern

I said it was you.
You never noticed one of the wings were torn.

You never really knew why I did that,
didn't you?
Well, words are fleeting now, and-

Oh. My tea is ready.