Time unfurls loudly
on your bitter tongue.
Birds flick, fiery,
into your Still Life with Bottles;
wing-tumbling off spires.
The spinous city ripples
upon the fallen-ribbon river.
Cathedrals hang, paint erupts
in a roar of questions.
Colors float, your infinite gullet.
The heady evening winds bulb over rocks,
tongues flickering between gold gulps and a
Space furls novels over the ceaseless quiet.
Your gold throat leans, watching the ribbon,
and the brief membranes of sky
Note: Image is Lagavulin 16 Year Old, Single Malt Whisky by David Kasman