I am the king of the table, I rise to the heat, Once I’m cut with a knife, With the fat you may eat

I hold your thoughts but cannot think. Used to recall what minds may blink. I travel light, on desks I stay, but never speak a word you say. With lines I’m dressed, in me they dwell your secrets kept, I serve you well.

I live in silence, spread like seed, I shift the hearts of those who read. No chest to breathe, no lungs to feel. What am I that shapes the real?

I warm your hands on chilly days, and calm your thoughts in gentle ways. With leaves I steep and scents I share, In mugs or cups, I’m everywhere.

What constantly goes through phases, but always stays the same?