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Click hereIn the late afternoon I
sip red wine and let my gaze
wander over my garden.
I swirl it around my mouth –
earthy, full of memory,
peppery in its finish,
tastes of berries, chocolate,
and a stoic loneliness.
I tease out hints of citrus
and half-remembered sadness
at the bottom of the glass.
The sun begins to set, and
I listen to whippoorwills
and watch the swallows diving.
The wine turns the color of
dried blood and the flowering
sacrifice dreams the ancient
vineyard into new meaning.
Beneath the soft fruit I touch
warm undulations of lust,
quiet smoothness of old leather,
gentle scratching of green moss,
and the gaping void of loss.
A flush spreads over my face,
and my ears ring with the night.
A rich purple cloaks my sight,
and my wet lips quiver with
the will to outlast madness.
and one well worth the read to help quench a thirst for good poetry - good stuff. M.