glazed with old blue

there on the edge of that glazed
old blue mug
a memory sits on a red flower tip
long since painted, in haste,
on a mad drunken spree
i recall our great cheer, how we
laughed heartily

defacing the crockery, felt pens
in hand
a winner, the last can of lager
to land
a game of no meaning, to us, at
that time
but death rewrites meaning, i've
since come to find, now

relieved of its day job just
holding some tea
it sits pride of place ever destined to be
a precious thing, timeless,
and glazed 
with old blue
a keeper of memory, life,
and 
of you.

M ~