The Potter

I know I will spend several years
As I attempt to close the void
there opened by the one I love.
I will sculpt the edge of that heartache
like a master at the wheel
Until with perfect symmetry
And quiet absolution
I will create a mouth so small
and temper the solution
So that,
When some time has passed,
And the heart-bled wine
Has aged at last,
I will take it on the tongue of memory
In the tiniest of tastes.
Overcome by bittersweetness,
I will look back with but a hint of tart
And find it without waste.