Rewrite: Steeping

http://onepoemoneday.blogspot.com/2007/01/steeping.html

You drink too much tea
they say,
but you just shrug and pour another cup.

There's something about your tea
that makes me
quiver.

It could be the colour,
a light and clear brown
so different from their muddy coffee;
or the way it trembles
when you set it on the saucer,
like a lover that's just been
pulled away from your lips.

I sympathise.
I remember what it was like
being pulled away from those lips:
the leap in my stomach
and the urge to jump right back at them
that I always
somehow
managed to sublimate.

I think you knew how it felt.
Everytime we pulled apart
you had this mischevious little grin on your face
that said,
I know you want me.

The worst part is
you were right,
and I still do.
I want to be the the leaves
that you turn into clear
brown
tea.