This bright and polished thick-walled palisade
each morning shakes hands to hail me with its
familiar O

I eagerly await the foremost pull
to curl my first finger ‘round the ring
as I lift this impressive heavy cauldron
to pursuant waiting lips

My senses sated by the steamy pungent scent
I smell the earth within as I slowly raise
ionic fluid to charge these clouded waking eyes

I gently kiss the contents
as this potion passes into the waiting bell
to ignite these tacit taste buds
and my clapper-tongue rings in the morning sun

Empty now it stands in silence poised
and causes me to question
“shall I have another?”
I rise to face the waiting pot
and cry what?
“"Stand and deliver"“

02/20/2007