You look like ironstone, but I see a china cup
barely balanced on the edge of eternity

Will an angel catch you if you fall?
And fill your broken heart with orange tea and honey?

Will you break the bread of fear,
drink the bittersweet brew for the sake of heaven?

Or has the cream so soured your trust,
the chips on your green soul have gone brown and dry?

Your mouth is parted slightly,
the moist inner pulp is exposed
I can see the traces of your fertile past

So parched, your thirst cannot be denied
Drink, drink of the steep of heaven
What's one more chip on the rim?