HOW TO DRINK A TOAST

You must look deep into my eyes, he said,
  your good strong gaze on mine, an arm upraised,
for that, my friend, is how the Toast is made
  a full-blooded toast for that, you'll be amazed.

What offers a glimpse of lasting time? said he,
  if the eyes are truly windows to the soul,
then drink in my eyes if you are drinking to me
  A toast to the promise of older secrets untold.

A toast! this toast drink deep, or drink it shallow,
  with poignant sigh, we raise our glasses high
there's magic in this, between a sip and a swallow,
  a moment's covenant between us, you and I.

A knowledge abridged for two persons alive
within the seconds it takes to finish a drink,
emboldens as much a daring conclusion to arrive,
to mark in this toast, the briefness of our link.

A toast is neither the speech before nor after,
  oh, not the prattle and poems of the wise!
drink to whatever, to life, to health, or laughter,
  but know that you must drink deep into the eyes.

I raked his eyes with mine, and suddenly saw,
  a fleeting look that seemed to lightly float
like love, the trickling feeling I felt before
  the gentle coursing of liquid down my throat.

I forget his name by now, forsaken is he,
  but then and here I do not mean to boast
but still I remember, what he said to me,
  and now I'll show you how to drink a toast.

~Paige Chia~