poem

aetheric hetaera
in the game of cheats
there is no bolder metis
wine too is a lens
but to measure it out
within the cup
one runs the risk of mouth
and yet with one simple twist
of the wrist a splash and
before the air
before the opening of the air
and the enclosing of it
this ground foretells
a shape familiar
yet unknown
mérhetetlen
if not yet thirsty