Blood Sonnet

Seth Jones, “Still Life with Grapes”

by Emma Philippas

το αίμα

Blood runs through my name alongside wine;

Out from alpha, they pour into the glass.

The stream is red, a diagonal line.

It is nothing like your cup drunk at mass.

Communion only of my soul and my name;

There is no need to involve the body

Except to extract the blood from my veins.

The lips that touch mine are less than Godly

And I make love within the bookcase

Where the wine spills and weakens the bindings

And the words are blurred alongside your face.

Of love lost, I'm constantly reminded.

Blood spills from beneath one author's name

And I live in this book of my own fame.