Fire welding

Temper me with your wilderness,
mold me into your hands
Speak loudly, forge and anvil
so that I may understand
 The ways which build your fires
when all eyes are turned away
So few loves could burn as brightly
nor compare
To such silent art you make.

A Puerh meditation

He only gets better with each pour,
fragrant and more flavor as the leaves steep
deeper, longer,
cultivated like no other,
such silken dogma
falls upon my eager tongue each time
I dare tip the cup.
With an intensity
and illumination
that increases the concentration of
delicacy,
nutrient-rich within the bold depths,
the medicinal nature of
Such surprising softness,
enlightened gaze, soft touch, 
Easy masculinity or
rugged sentimentality as the
illusive steam of lore invades my senses
slides into my dark depths
and fulfills,
builds a cell-woven golden age
I long to return to
day upon day.