You asked, “What am I to you?”
And I said, “You are like tea, I can have you any time.”
I do not need you, but I choose to have you in the morning, at ten o’clock, at noon, a few minutes past two in the afternoon, at five and at night before I go to bed.
You are like tea. You are good black, strong, with lemon, iced or with milk. You are good with a pinch of cardamom, ginger or cinnamon.
You go down well with cake, cookies, mandazi, bread, chapati, boiled maize, roasted maize, pancakes, eggs.
You are like tea, is what I said.
I should have explained it better or made you see you the way I see you, but you are never one to stick around for an explanation. Just like tea you cooled down when left to your own devices.
For, how do I make you understand that in all, you are from the earth and take a while to understand, just like brewed tea?
Oh, how my words fail me when my heart is in knots.
You my love have proven to be like simmering strong black tea: rich in color, appealing in aroma, tantalizing in flavor, but a sucker punch in temperature.