Cold tea for me despite every convention.
Cold tea leaves tell you the future in suspension.
Cold tea, born in the cup, dies in the microwave,
Gets resurrected and awaits its ascension.
Cold tea, with milk skin cobwebs to choke on makes me
Ditch milk if only to make it to my pension.
Cold tea, stale gossip, always the last one to know.
No notification, no DM, no mention.
Cold tea, old tea, like ardour taken for granted,
A burnt-out argument in the fourth dimension.
Cold tea, not iced tea, just room temperature and bland.
Like Sameer's words, not deserving much attention.
