Let that burning red tea boil. Let your feelings erupt because they placed microchips in your books and in your brains. There is the manipulative son of a bitch so cerebral and invading your cranial territory like Cortés and his Conquistadores. The man will stick it to you literally and figuratively until you learn that even your red tea won’t heal your bleeding veins from their hell-bent wrath. Your body is an empire, your mind is the Earth, and my dear, your soul is the universe. He screams your name at night and pollutes your existence with his tongue. Yes, the very same one that sent shivers down your spine and the very same one that made you cry. He let his fists bang the walls when he was angry with you for bringing out his true self with your wishes of sincerity and honesty. You gave him mala beads in the shape of rainbow pearls that were deep-colored like the pools of your soul that are hidden under lock and key in your magnanimous body not at its prime yet, but getting there. You scream his dynasty’s last name in vain because no one is there to listen to your throaty exclamations. Your silk bathed lips made him quiver like soft chrysanthemums caressing, tickling, touching his goosebumped skin. He wanted what was between… He wanted what was within… The warmth radiating from your experienced body and soul and mind collected in his lungs and suffocated the hell of his inner oceans, which quenched your fire eventually. The oil will only burn until there is none left in his waters. You were the fire. You ARE the fire hiding underneath the skin and within his bone marrow. You ARE his dream and you are the dreamer.