Archive 11/22/10 - (2)

 

   

Chalices

                                                                  

Each warm breath

You serenely pour into my mouth's chalice,

I drink,

To the core of my being,

As if it were ichor from immortality's spring.

Each warm breath

I gently pour over the lips of your chalice,

You sip,

To the source of your existence,

As if its draught might slake time's drought.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                               

 

11/22/10 - (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 

  
   
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