these fingers can weave magic
these lips can utter spells
but only you have the potion which I drink
as if dying of thirst
that transforms my heart into a quivering bird
desperately seeking it’s voice
to sing it’s song of freedom
holy water, holy wine
your touch comes as a Holy Trinity
a beginning
a middle and
an end
let us not say goodbye, just yet
let us just wait for the potion
to settle in my stomach
one last time