a string of
beads
trails around
your wrist
each drop
perfect and precise

a gift from the
gods
this precious
jewelry
for no
man can
create such
a wonder
with machines
or with
science

you lap at it
like a cat
drinking
cool milk
only this is
warm

your tongue
tastes copper
reminding you of
shiny hot
pennies on a
sultry day
you close your
eyes
feeling content
if only for a
moment
when you open
them again
the rush of
good feeling gone
you look down
the beads of red
have gone
your treasure
sullied
turned into
smears of
brown
dark but
unremarkable

funny how
a thing so
beautiful turns
ugly

was it ever
beautiful
in the first place?