  in all banality, i ask you to drink tea. i want to give this amber-cooled stream to the cracked furrows of you and run it through you, brown and chilled and liquid, natural and normal. you must not pay attention to these things anymore, the smaller flavours that peer at you for notice because your mouth is full of a bitterness i have never smelt and cannot guess the taste of. pour it on, this golden remedy, and let its amber sheen of liquid be all that is between your body and the world. --- rather unlike my usual style. this is rather atwood-y. and the second stanza reminds me of st paul's letters (the sentence structure). this would be a b-side. 
