Vintage by Amy Lowell

I will mix me a drink of stars, --

Large stars with polychrome needles,

Small stars jetting maroon and crimson,

Cool, quiet, green stars.

I will tear them out of the sky,

And squeeze them over an old silver cup,

And I will pour the cold scorn of my Beloved into it,

So that my drink shall be bubbled with ice.

It will lap and scratch

As I swallow it down;

And I shall feel it as a serpent of fire,

Coiling and twisting in my belly.

His snortings will rise to my head,

And I shall be hot, and laugh,

Forgetting that I have ever known a woman.