I scream
for something cold
to sink between our teeth
before mugs steam
and teeth stain.
Cooled cream tastes better
that it remains
sucked in my tongue,
sapped further back
to the underbelly.
For a moment
the sensation lasts
until washed by the same flavor
warmed to the taste.
Cold and warm,
they dance swirling
into the sea
of my blessed tummy
— a heyday to my day.

© 𝓙𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓱 𝓖𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓟𝓲𝓱𝓸𝓬