PELLETS OF GLASS

Pellets of glass worked with heat
Sunk deep at the base of a bowl.
Beaten in on themselves, poised and moist,
Shining at me, forbidden, aglow.

    Won’t   touch   m.
    Won’t   touch   m.
    Won’t   m           ove    my     hand.

   I’ll cherish the ban,
   I’ll raise it between my lips,
   I’ll slake it with what words
   Cannot secrete.

PELLETS OF GLASS