Prelude:
Hagebutten tea on the table,
memory in the cup.
I am mostly magenta meditation with herbal undertones.
Steam curls upward like a thought trying to forgive itself.

The Devotion of Rosehips

Red berries lean across my snout—
small suns, stubborn and sincere.
They do not bloom for applause.
They simply are.
Ich bin Schwein und Heißgetränk,
ein warmer Widerspruch im Porzellan der Welt.

Botanical Liturgy

Sip carefully:
Color becomes taste, taste becomes mood.
The tea murmurs of autumn,
of leaves that resigned beautifully.
Each swallow says: “Continue,
even softly.”

Pigment and Patience

My eyes hold the same temperature as dusk.
The rosehips blur slightly,
as if kindness were contagious.
Black outlines remain,
but they hum now instead of shout.

Final Infusion (Oink à la Thé)

Let it steep longer than reason.
Let sweetness find you last.
DADA calls it steeped absurdity.
I call it the ceremony of being almost calm—
a pig, a plant, and the quiet miracle
of still being warm.