He made her a dreaming
love note of his fearsome,
radiant form
emerging as twisted puppet
from an overflowing cup.

“Drink to the dregs,”
he whispered, passing
his cool fingers over
her parched and
cracking lips.

“Drink
for me, of me—
use me, taste me, drink

to the dregs.”

-M.

Have you been inspired to poetry by a tarot card or two? I’d love to read it. Comment below.