Wine
A poem
Together we drink the goodness of this rich earth.
The sun’s warmth wrapped in the grapes’ sweet flesh.
Swirling red, its musk excites the beauty that lies
behind the horizon of your smiling eyes,
as we extract the essence of its elusive hue.
The smokiness that oak-cask passion fills,
drawing forth the tingling of our senses now probed.
A touch, beyond shy courage just a moment ago.
A smile, prolonged beyond decorum’s stubborn remit.
A hand held gently for the very first time.
A tiny kiss, withdrawn quickly to take the next sip.
Once more we taste of the red liquid mist,
a closeness denied till boundaries recede,
as malleable as the fluid cupped in our hands.
You look into my eyes, as you did in my dreams,
the magical deception we need to make real,
all hope and desire in this moment revealed,
rejoicing the victory of closeness now gained.
I take your hand, there is no going back.
We plunge into the river, swept away in the flood,
your embrace propels us safely to a soft meadow beyond.
Moshe Forman, January 2023
