Shiraz at twilight

In 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.