my hands are still
soft from rolling dough
in sugar,
still smell faintly
of cinnamon and nutmeg
cardamom and clove
spiral upward in
the smoke from black
tea, a warmth
inside to mingle
with the smoke of
fire
I have nutmeg hands
and chai-campfire lungs
I am warm-scented
steam in an empty
orange sweater
I am the poem
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
my hands are still
soft from rolling dough
in sugar,
still smell faintly
of cinnamon and nutmeg
cardamom and clove
spiral upward in
the smoke from black
tea, a warmth
inside to mingle
with the smoke of
fire
I have nutmeg hands
and chai-campfire lungs
I am warm-scented
steam in an empty
orange sweater
I am the poem
