Intoxication


My love,
You love the fruit of my vines
The sweet intoxication – blood huéd wine
I produce without soil amidst buttes and scarred rocks
With just want, will, and worry from what I have not

To give,
I do, no thoughts weary mine
Rock-dented dour brow which seethes with sublime
Liquor; I languor, but to you I taste sweet
Then consume from my rib the last of my meat

Now ragged, rapéd bones do pierce my side
Through eyes bursted bled blood clots, I see the divine
Who loves the new vintage, the seed from my hand
Placed in the soil my love never planted.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s