one cup too many

One, two, three, fifty!
I lose count sooner than planned.
Churning inside me,
The ajwain, goat milk, and ginger honey reside.
A strange concoction, I must admit,
Brewing quietly inside me.
I cannot, for the life of me,
Pick up another cup.

(No sooner did I write this that I included a chai budget for my trip.)