Black Tea, Wiseman's Tea Poem by Black Consciousness Poetry BCP

You are my ancient religion, my
morning cup of tea, black and
strong with sweetest honey of
melanin, with no milk, not diluted
that's how I prefer you warm, even
steaming hot too.Half full, half
empty you complete me, you occupy
even the least of my thoughts, I
think of you, every time the kettle
hisses. Our affection boils, I pour
you into the cup of my hands and
stroke you with my fingers, hold
you closer then sip you.

|Suss KaMzibeni|