Perfect Paper Bird

the magic

speeds through me

like a sickness

each time 

I set fire 

to the perfect paper bird

of a poem

and launch it from my hands

I want to do it again

I want you 

to uncork the jar 

and let the smoke 

wind up from 

the surface 

of the enchanted water 

over and over

because once 

is never enough 

and almost as soon

as I let the edge

of the cup

drop from my lips

I want 

another sip