The Last Drop In The Glass

It always begins with a full glass— Let it be of water, juice or wine That when I saw your face I got used to your flavour . It made me addicted Words of sweet honey beads Softening my lips, and Glazing the roughness Of my jagged throat Indulging in the freshness Of every morning sip Which then became

             Gulps

             Gulps

             Gulps

Falling inwardly, Emptying the glass A timely glass— Non-refillable. . I look at the glass Half— . Empty, Thinking that maybe After another sip I might feel Half— . Full. . I lower my sight to What’s left in my glass Like a shallow lake of dissolved times And I worry, I worry that the two remaining sips Won’t satiate my lips, I worry that soon there will be no more— Who knows for how long. . And as I see the last drop in the glass I chuckle, I smile, and I sip down The sweetness of my past.