Poetry-Fine Wine-A Poem About Past Lovers
In my life I’ve tasted many wines.
In many lands.
In many places.
Where language and creeds were barriers.
These were the bitter wines,
And my first impulse was to dash the bottle to the floor,
And run away and never show myself again.
My second reaction was to find out why.
But I never did.
Some wines were dry.
As dry as the deserts of North Africa.
And at night as cold as the desert night.
I tried to become accustomed to the taste,
But to no avail.
I needed a warm bodied wine,
Not a wine that has me gasping for something sweeter,
Or something warmer.
Some wines were sweet.
Yes, some sickly sweet.
These I recognized before I tasted.
And avoided, like a mouse avoids the cat.
Ah, but those sweet wines.
Those wines that heightened the pallet.
Those wines that soothed and brought joy,
Those wines that bridged the islands of the journey,
That begins at birth and ends at another birth.
Between these births there are the growing pains.
The wines of life.
Searching for the perfect bouquet.
The perfect blend that is not too dry,
Is not too sweet,
Is not too bitter.
This blend has the bouquet of a silken strand.
Riding on the wind.
A taste that fulfills all your dreams.
And casts aside your nightmares,
Of being lonely,
Of being unhappy,
Of not having someone to want, of not having someone to need.
Of not having someone to hold through the cold nights.
Of not having someone to smile at, to touch, to caress.
Of not having someone to laugh with, to cry with, to make love to.
To miss when asleep, too miss when out of sight.
Have I found my wine, my blend of perfection.
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