Tremblement de Terre

You poured it, the water, coolly.

On my sugar cube, until it melted,

through a feuille armoise.
Then you smiled and looked at me.
And the clarity obscured again.
Opaque, louche, complex.
Infinite. Breathless.
I want to savor each drop.

I want to savor you in drops.

Inhale your essence from each sip.
I want to taste your aroma on my lip.
Drink you in, slowly,
Until I feel your warmth within me.

If he were here, he would paint you.
Wearing a cape and gloves, on a moonlit night on the Place Dalida.
Sipping the forbidden drink of his invention, with cognac and a twist.
Toulouse-Lautrec and I, you see,
have at least some commonality.

Or should I say we three?