Love's Harvest

As wine must taste of grapes, I'd have you know,
That love still tastes of you: you plucked the fruit
From which a loving flavour ceased to flow,
For time has passed and love has followed suit;
Passion has clearly fled, so just remember:
Vintages mature, then they're degraded,
Aromas that filled a head with pleasures tender,
Corked, will suit the palate that is jaded;
Musty wine steals warmth and strength of heart:
A heart that beats subdued now all's forgotten,
And empty bottles mark how we're apart,
While fruit, left on our vine, grows black and rotten.
Here's a bitter kiss: it's a kiss to wake
The acrid taste of lost love from each grape.