Bubbles erupt from the neck, A million tiny perfect diamonds tumble over one another, kissing the air. With a breath of Midas, it turns my crystal chalice a deep, frothing gold.
It is liquid movement indefinite and the golden Ocean whirls and spins a delicate storm in my glass - I blink for just too long and the fizz climbs in my ears, Like a sweetly growling throat, It slowly opens to an ecstatic ebbing exhalation.
Now to my parting mouth.
The chalice gently draws the heat from my swollen red lips and it is crisp and cool as the cut glass it curls in.
Where does my chalice end and this pool of weightless gold begin?
Temptation changes its name to thirst. Another and another and another down my throat. And the storm in my chalice surges over the rim, And the edge begins to sing to where light and dark become the same thing!
And now empty – The glass is damp and cold.
One bead of vapour left, To slide down my chalice’s neck.