Is it sacred,
This thing we do,
Or think,
Or say,
Do we pray over it,
When we think
How it might be
Vulgar,
To think about it
Too much,
To feel it stir things
Inside us
We ought leave
Undisturbed.
Is it sacred?
Do we praise it?
Do we let it
Fill us up
With its strange
Elixir
Fogging over
Each thought,
We obsess over it,
And then regret
Having done so,
Needing it in our lives
If only to spring
Some small spark
Of joy,
We would lack
If we did not.
This sacred ritual
Sometimes taken for granted,
The touch, the taste
The terrible
(and yet exhilarating) joy it brings.
Is it scared?
Are we blessed
Or cursed?
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