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.
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