Let’s sit down, you and I, and talk about the chalice.  There’s only one for the two of us.  And it’s empty, but it’s full of reflections.

From that chalice you can drink the moon and her entourage of stars, and their cloaks of black silk.  From that chalice you can drink the sun sheathed in gunsmoke clouds, and the unstaunched light.  From that chalice you can drink the ghosts of roses past.

You’ve tasted all of these already, and yet you never think to taste my eyes, when I have been watching you for so long.  I cannot offer you the moon’s horned crown, the sun’s bloodied robes, unexorcised roses.  I can only tell you: my skull is a chalice, and my eyes are the wine.  Come to me, and drink deep.