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