Vintage
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will mix me a drink of stars,--Large stars with polychrome needles,Small stars jetting maroon and crimson,Cool, quiet, green stars.I will tear them out of the sky,And squeeze them over an old silver cup,And I will pour the cold scorn of my Beloved into it,So that my drink shall be bubbled with ice. It will lap and scratchAs I swallow it down;And I shall feel it as a serpent of fire,Coiling and twisting in my belly.His snortings will rise to my head,And I shall be hot, and laugh,Forgetting that I have ever known a woman.
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