The poison chalice

The poison chalice
sits inside of me,

a loving cup
made of clay.

I drink, I drink,
so heartily
it makes my blood
black as love.

Come again -
if not now
then another day.

Something inside of me
refuses to lie down in the sun
or to go away.

I kneel like a beggar,
hands clasped:

am I praying
or do I betray?


21.40
31/08/08