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I was chiseled,
finely sculpted,
a clear block of ice.
Sitting, cooling,
a favored whiskey -
warming on your tongue.
Sipping, slowly
stress escaped,
tears lost their way.
Flavors melted,
mingled, contained
until forgotten,
old and moldy -
as other dishes
piled up.
In a vortex,
a river of screams -
me, myself and I -
forcefully washed away.
© 2006 Sara Coslett
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Love Tinka
eT
Felix
I liked it very much.
Jill