Sacrament

This terrifying baptism I take.

I make blasphemous oaths I will not break.

I carve these laws unto my willing flesh,

And on my face, through that lie-spreading gash,

I consecrate my soul for loving’s sake—

An ironic betrayal!… Thus I make

My drowning permanent—in waters fresh

I wash the blood that springs from loving’s lash;

A holy drunkenness: this wine is you,

When I obliviate me from memories past,

And fate rewinds itself, to return through

My self—despairing, summers fall to dust—

This wine’s not red, nor white or black or blue,

But oh! so clear!—yet, yet, it’ll never last.

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