hOt TeA

Steaming boiling liquid
Burns the buds, the flesh
Of an unsuspecting tongue.
Blow to cool, no avail
Burnt the tip—
What fun!

A hot mug, comforting to cold hands
Its contents volcanic 
Like molten lava, but more watery.
Mouth-borne winds have no effect
On this heated substance
Take a sip, regret it.
Now everything tastes weird
And it hurts.