Teas Go Cold

They sit down with steaming mugs
And bubbling anger.
They intend to talk
But voices are raised.
They have to put their drinks down
Or hot liquid will be spilled
Onto bare skin.
Teas go cold in this house.
Left to fade to room temperature,
Sinking into the stagnant,
Stale air.
A loss of heat.
Warmth, forgotten.

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