I fell asleep against
the stained glass that painted
the ground with colors that
children only see through
the lenses of kaleidoscopes;
vividness that blind men
only see when holding the
warm hands of their lovers.
I woke up to the bells
singing tunes of the eschaton
and the priest muttering
damnation upon the half-empty
bottle of Jim Beam resting in my lap.
"Want a swig?" I asked with a stagger.
"No," he replied. "Whiskey is the devil's elixir
and besides,
there are plenty a bottle of Christ's blood behind the altar from which to choose."
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
I fell asleep against
the stained glass that painted
the ground with colors that
children only see through
the lenses of kaleidoscopes;
vividness that blind men
only see when holding the
warm hands of their lovers.
I woke up to the bells
singing tunes of the eschaton
and the priest muttering
damnation upon the half-empty
bottle of Jim Beam resting in my lap.
"Want a swig?" I asked with a stagger.
"No," he replied. "Whiskey is the devil's elixir
and besides,
there are plenty a bottle of Christ's blood behind the altar from which to choose."
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