Blood in the Glass

I pulled it slowly, without spilling a drop. Slowly it rose up the tankard, vermillion red, perfumes of rose-hip, blackberry and raspberry that fill the cellar.

The salami sliced thick and fragrant bread, on a dark wooden board, a pagan altar to a simple joy of sharing a sublime pleasure.

Sit down. Pass me your glass, I'll pour you a drop of this red emotion, break the bread, take some, friend - taste my blood, establish this not disrespectful communion with me. See, the World that divided us now seems more shareable: a small miracle is happening, we are living a happy moment. Something now so rare in this bedlam that we call life. Drink and eat, tell me your stories. Yeah, we can now truly claim to be blood-brothers.

---