soft rolls of hot steam
     a billowing thurible
     humming on my kitchen's stove
     breathing life and settling like dew within me
something sacred laced in earl grey
     honey in the desert,
     with toast in the morning
     sweet, slow, and hot
inherently communal, triune
     my hands wrapped round—
     the clay my great uncle once spun
     holding its entrancing lotus flower
divinity resting within me