Love—as yellow as Time. And memories, fluid, bitter flavonoids.
Yellow, as thematic, and warm. This liquid libation. It is home. It is healing. Yellow agave, dripping into its belly—instantly devoured by vast swirl. And life, as it swallows experiences. Forever mixed together, this calculated microcosm. Slowly prospering, growing. And such, our thoughts, muddled together to warm the throat of existence. If only one chance to change properties, to take on a completely hydrous state. On a hot summer’s day, under the covers of winter, healing the soul. Of negative capability. I am Blooming Tea.