by Daniela Topîrcean
He had held the glass full of a golden drink in his hand, he had drunk the entire content almost unknowingly and in the end, he crowned everything with a slightly dissatisfied plash because the wine had not been absolute as he had wished. He did not suspect that in the drops he had tasted and dripped lightly on his dusty coat, an acacia-scented flower cried in the night of endless love. … The glass in his dirty corn hand was made from a crystal with delicate inlays, too fine to see them with his tired mind. for after the thirst of the body was quenched, indifferently, the drunk hit it hard of a stone slab, breaking the priceless crystal glass into thousands of shards!