I drink so much tea
My skin smells like earl grey and looks like milk chai and cream.

I wanna soak myself every day like leaves,
Dip into a cool pond and come out relieved.

It's true I'm sweetest in the spring,
Covered in chamomile and lulled by honey bees . . .

. . . And I might become icy in the summer breeze.
(You see, these old roots don't hold all too well in the heat.)

I always did admire history:
Adornments hard and pure as ancient Mercury's wings

—But you can imbue me as you please!
Poison me with toxins and hasten it with steam . . .

It's well known I live to heed;
I'll alter myself to be the cure that you need.

And, sure, these porcelain bones may become stained with fauna green
(I'll admit there's matcha in my veins, there's envy flowing serene);

But for all my flowery undertones and speech
Maybe all I've ever wanted was to be consumed with clarity.