Bring your cracked smiles and tall tales
To my patient table.
Purple rings stain the grain;
Life leaves marks.
Let fly your cackles that snap and spark
In the dark corners,
Urging a sluggish grub to quickness,
To feel her still-sheathed wings.
Wine flows like talk,
Easing the hinges of doors to past selves
And window catches to new views,
Word-weaving, we thread together
The magenta warp of deep laughter,
The soft pastel weft of mundane sorrows
To magic cloth that wraps and warms
Souls gone grey with routines we never dreamed
And gone-over loves.
Blurting secrets in a jolt,
Like a wine bottle knocked:
Red-spreading pool blotted, but indelibly inked
Into the Rorsach of maturing friendship.
In the hiatus eyes meet,
And Judgement’s place in the cold
Is sealed with a re-filled glass.