He ate his muffin
like a sacred communion
Sweet and meltable on the tongue
His sips were
an ice expresso latte
Dark, like aged blood
that has long ago been pumped
but waiting for the next wound to seep
as it is enlightened with a
a cream of dull lightness
It was sacred
this sweet, energized communioning
as he broke, partook, sipped
away from old memories of past sins
and new promises of, “I’ll do better’s”
With head bowed
eyes tightly closed
lingering tastes
and a renewed grateful spirit
These sacred sips
blessed bits
hold unclaimed promises
hopes of futures
that come to us in the same way
In sips and bits
and not ever usually
in “all at once’s”
Reserved for all
but only granted to the Patient
Communion crumbs
hold what most leave
or annoying just brush away
even while they promise
the tastiest blessings of redemption
Kudos on this poem. Reads almost like you were observing someone in the act of his “communing.”
Much appreciated for the kind comments; it was more real than we watching some in the act of communing…it was ME!