How are you?

Fine.

Fine as the infinite grains of sand,

tread on by carefree souls.

Waves rolling in, lapping over them,

pulling each out to sea.

Fine as a crack in a tea cup,

a blemish on the delicate china.

Slowly branching out, and up,

threatening to spill it’s contents.

Fine as the decadent chocolate,

wrapped in golden foil.

Held captive in a warm dark mouth,

melting, vanishing, consumed.

Fine as the threads of silk,

weaved together on a pillow.

Losing its sheen, tattered,

worn and stained with tears.

Fine as the tip of the needle,

gently piercing the tender skin.

Injecting it’s magic potion,

leaving beautiful bruises behind.

Fine as the aged Cabernet,

grapes tenderly crushed, fermented.

Soothing tannins being sipped,

intoxicating, inebriating, sedating.

I am Fine.