The calix I hold fills at the shore
of a tragedy unknown before;
this weathered ornament that once bore
the happiness and youth of yore.
I relish in the touch of skin,
of stubble and the rush of sin.
I unleash burning tides within,
crippled now as time runs thin.
With hands, a seed was planted deep.
We architects no more will reap.
Subdued, with all that's failed I keep.
The distance far, we cannot leap.
For leagues a thousand separate now,
Dilated petals and stems that bow.
Drowning, withering, stalks under plow
These things this calix will always endow.
