No More Toasts
Liquid honey for the dreamer,
A golden well in glittering walls.
Oozing, open, drenched of spices,
A trader’s chest with treasure hauls.
Thick and gilded, nectars drip,
Rolling slowly on parched lips.
Burning, fiery sting on tongue,
Falling, yielding inwards sun.
Heat subsides then to pleasure,
Spices, sweetness burst alive.
Lips licked, to catch the flavour,
A catalyst to mesmerize.
Alas now the bottles bare,
A spectacle devoid of eyes.
No more toasts beloved friends,
We drained and drammed away the hive.
On a Saturday Night
© 2013 Anna Haven