Poetry

Pouring

By R. Newell

The pendulum swings

to the mechanical ticking of time defused

by the clicking of amber relief poured over cubed ice caged in Waterford Crystal.

The succulent slow pouring

of a tall broad shouldered soul into a stemmed glass

brimming with Burgundy rimmed with crimson wax lip prints. The pouring of life's liquor

like clear licorice oozing

from a bulbous bottle into richly roasted espresso.

Pouring, pouring, pouring more of something, less of nothing, pouring,

drenching, quenching, lusting

loves unflinching. Pour me, drink me, love me,

baby...please. T' is a smooth thing, easy and inviting. Lift the glass, lift it high

and kiss me

then spin me 'round the floor.

Love's alight, life's aloft 

in this night's draught of naught. Be lonely no more.