Spoken in Ink

Finger tip against sternum
the color of deep red sunset,
dark purple ripples yawning outward, within
the shores of this over-flowing chalice
forged long before me,
fired in conflagrations stoked with blood promised thicker than water, and
proclamations from lovers
lost in a forest of their own neglect.
This is the cup we drink from.

by amandaberlinski

A queer artist and poet interested in connection, reflection, and the human experience.


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