Besotted

I like it each time you are poured out
overflowing the cup
and when you reach for me
I sip and do not stop
until I have had my fill

There are days when we are divided by time
and I do not like it
when an ocean comes between us
but your voice when you return
is sweet when you say my name

I drink you up
straight from the goblet
emptied with my head back
to the last drop
like candy–that taste

Is it any wonder
I keep coming back, is it
any wonder, I can’t remember
my own name

simultaneously
satiated and sapped

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