Sipping

Oh for a chalice in a drought

to give ornate intent to my suffering,

then too a label on vintage nectar

so I can feel the flush of privilege

it all is but a diversion

a way to add illusion

over the deeper reality.

 

With eyes I drink the day,

can see in showers either as blessing

or the curse of some destruction,

but still when it comes

unto what is in a crystal glass

most will let lips debate

the meaning of its contents

every dried up inside

over the miniscule meanderings.

 

Meanwhile I just consume the contents,

while all of them are left

every thirsty and thinking

as I head off to the drinking fountain

because sipping is the act,

which separates

those who won’t and can’t

from those who do.