The gossamer of the calligraphic text,
Treacherous like the first sip of wine,
Playing tricks over the diaphanous
Lines on my right palm that were
Scalded by fumes of stardust that
Glowed like a firefly does in a similar
Hour of night; and the vines of new love
Veining around my veins, piercing
Tranquilly into my consciousness as I
Read and read the texts, and hear your
Mysterious smiles chiming against my
Eardrums, playing a polyphonic melody
Over the bones of my spine like the
Keys of a piano or the strings of a violin.
- THE FIRST SIP OF WINE
