The Tea She Makes

There's something in the tea she makes,
The way she stirs, she makes it taste,
It breaks my heart and devastates

I anticipate the coming swoon
And watch her hold her magic spoon;
Her wrists, she twists;
As she prepares her magic brew

The moment builds; she offers up
Her sweetly scented earthen cup,
My sleepy hands around the waist,
It wakes my blood with warming touch

And as I sip, her fingertips
Idly tickle the cauldron lip
And, smiling, smoldering, trace
The places moistened by my lips

For a lovely while I lose my mind;
Enchanted by her spell, I find
This dangerous, innocent, loving charm
Is all there is, all else behind

And to this day, within me waits,
Something in me aches to taste
The way she stirs the tea she makes