Storming In Tea-Cups

“a cup of tea is not a cup of tea. . . when you make it at twilight, just for him.” call it a love potion. liquid dreams. scented desire. wishes boiled to a blend. three cinnamon pods the dried darjeeling leaves milk and pearl-white cream simmering to a syrup to be filtered. as you sweat in its vapours and imagine how the tea tastes against his lips his teeth his tongue and the pale pink insides of his throat as you stir in the sugar and test a spoonful to see if it stings and soothes and stimulates the way you intended as you pour it into his cup with eyes mirroring supernovas and study the desirable brown of the tea an entire shade that fits exactly between the desert sand of your skin and the date palm of his. almost the color of your possible child. (First published in Kavya Bharati)