For D.

You are
what you imbibe.

Liquid clear and roasted
til it speaks

A mother's suspension
of disbelief
pailed and skimmed

A bag of last year's
hillside leaves

The candied sex of flowers
passed in a fussy
mouth to mouth

Precise and ritual
held in friended cups
and mixed with the clapper of a bell

The antidote for each
morning's poisoned kiss.