can't reach my tea.
bought from a florida store,
sent to the desert,
carried back to florida.
what i drink is directly proportional to what i put out,
what i get from me.
gallons of diet coke once fueled an unforgiving relationship with a desk.
a sea of coffee once brought me closer to white lines.
i floated down a river of whiskey only to be shipwrecked
in the desert.
but tea.
tea has always been good to me.
hot and loose, the way my temper runs.
it's like the more i drink
the more calm i stay.
maybe because i'm too busy running to go ***
and waiting for the next cup to be the perfect temperature.
and seeped, infused to a tasty equilibrium
to notice
everything is spinning out of control.
and, like my tea, i've been so many places
with not one to call home,
to call my own.