Copper high notes,
Something mixed in the iron
Redder than a Syrah,
Dripping down and off frigid white marble
A puddled pool, light refracting
While I stare into the crimson mirror,
Bathe me in you,
Blanket me in your wet pneuma,
Intoxicated in the Luke warm,
In between each finger stir until sediment
Black obsidian
Alive next to your emptied meridian,
Remembered in the earnest of taste
And always now, a part of me, consumed.