| wine touching softly the fringe of your hairline, testing the holy waters of the sweat that forms on your brow, even when it is cool, as the fool rushes not in this time, but begs the wine of an earnest heart to age to full flavour and ripe with intoxication made manifest in the last kiss I place on lips begging to be crushed so that the juices may flow from the cask and down the winestems set slightly apart until the toast is given and the thirst is driven from us in a wave of warmth made effervescent by sacred words spoken between the press of life. copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv). for Karla. |
|---|