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Drinking Companions
This is what I am.
You must accept this blindly.
Take this blindfold.
Yell all you want.
Masking the ebullience,
the cork stops up a glass throat.
Myriad trails wander to the amber surface,
trapped within a beatific green reverie.
Morass of lines wraps itself warmly around,
in such a fine web, they criss-cross,
seperated into a fine ten digits dexterous in their motion.
Here, manifest looping prints.
Ephemeral absence of indentations reverse.
Fragments of transparent opacity glitter.
And the honey amber swirls descending.
A round foot comes to rest on the dark.
Its elegant companion lies lounging as a lozenge.
The flexible mechanism departs.
The glass, the bottle, the hand.
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