I go to the kitchen and switch on the light 
A hazy, 5 watt bulb warms to life
I then put the kettle on
And while it sings its little song
I fix my square blue-flowered tray
Strainer, spoon and a little bowl
And one of my mugs adds to the whole
With a pinch of the most fragrant earl grey
It sits in its saucer and awaits
The steamy pour from the spout
Of the kettle as the water gushes out

Onto the teabag it flows in a rush
Steaming vapour billowing up
The mug is filled almost to the brim
Just enough space for milk, not skimmed
(Low fat is the best I can do
Playing around with tea is taboo!)
Then the iris-strewn tea tray goes
To the lounge, loaded with its amenities
In all of this, as its centrepiece
My mug puts on a steamy show

It blows kisses in fragrant plumes
Sending them wafting across the room
I kiss it back with my first sip
It’s the one that has the scalding nip
I close my eyes as it slides down
My throat, searing the flesh around
But that is the pleasure of tea drinking
A self-immolation fit for a king


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