We are evaporated whispers–
Hissing at one another like tea
Kettle steam. Burn for me;
Become scolding liquid upon
My skin. Leave marks on flesh
To match scars on my soul.
You are the herbal tea that burns
My tongue, rending my taste buds
Useless. Even when I drink coffee
Or water, all I taste is the numbness
Your overzealous love has caused.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen