Poison in a crystal cup

red like a dead king’s blood, or a peasant’s

where a thousand walk each day and night

passing by it, and the whispers in their ears

tell stories of forbidden things

‘Do not let this poison pass your lips

if not to the mouth of jealous gods you wish to go

to be torn apart, devoured and reshaped

melted down and reforged

and finally fallen back to the earth

stained red with the blood of the dead

back to the place where two bodies lay

Then poisoned, standing there over the slain

piloting a mind of waning fire

sewn together with silken thread

you might find you’ve forgotten

which one of them was royal

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Photo by P.O.sitive Negative on Unsplash