A medieval cup, green by nature.
Its veins stretch like branches
on a tree as it itself stretches
on the branches of a tree.
My mouth waters at the thought
of that speck of dew—
casually sliding down velvet.
It's just like any other day.
Its adventure down the leaf
is one of many before it
and the many to come.
YOU ARE READING
Piss and Moan
PoetryAlistair enjoys writing poetry despite his parents' disapproval of the feminity they believe it has. Still, he continues, and when he meets a boy, who his parents also disapprove of, he still continues. (I've written this before and it was really re...
