The chai is spiced like Nashville hot chicken,
like curry, like buffalo wings on High.

I’m drinking hot coals on ice. The spice
is sparking down my esophagus
and sizzling like sparklers in my stomach.

My tongue is in a state of chilled duress.

What was it, my teeth ask, that brought us here?
What was it, they ask, that made it
necessary to char our frozen enamel?

Soon, I will belch blue flames.

What a life this is, to burn cold,
to feel everything all at once.