Thirst

michael-bethouart-mooEhvLUFX8-unsplash
Photo by Michaël Bethouart on Unsplash

Enough rain today to banish all thirst—
but what of the thirst I was born with:
to taste the sweet and formless
wonder of my own soul,
to have it held up as perfect
and infinitely translatable?

Lift that crystal goblet
repeatedly to my lips
and I will be drunk
with love for you, and I
will lift it again and again
to yours.

I’ll say then, we are forgetful
gods and goddesses
wandering the streets
of our lives. I’ll say,
let’s celebrate being found
and slake those ancient longings,

for this is not a thirst
I want to die with—
the coveted bottle cellared,
we, the ones not poured.

Another poem from my chapbook “Stealing Eternity”.

 

2 thoughts on “Thirst

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