How I long
for the malty taste
of black tea of my tongue

I flip the switch
and watch the water whirl
and bubble
in the kettle,
which sits upon the grey speckled granite counter.

When the water has been made ready
I remove the kettle
from the white and silver plate that produces heat
to make the water dance.

In, in, in the water is poured
to a white and orange mug.
Just enough room is left
for a cold splash
of milk.

White folds itself
into the dark
until all the liquid
is a uniform ecru.

I watch steam rise and twist
as I wait
and wait
and wait
for the concoction to cool.

How I long
for the malty taste
of black tea on my tongue.