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Aug 2012
The cork eases out of the twisted green glass.

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.

And I take my glass
Back to the sink.
Rosie Anne Stafford
Written by
Rosie Anne Stafford
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