Juxtapositions …

Were you to say, “The sun went down in honey, and the moon came up in wine,” I might say, “Raising my cup, I toast the bright moon, and facing my shadow makes friends three, though moon has never understood wine, and shadow only trails along behind me.”

But were you to say, “She said that all the railroad men just drink up your blood like wine,”  I might say “Drinking together among mountain blossoms, we down a cup, another, and yet another.”

And were you to in fact say, “A bottle of white, a bottle of red, perhaps a bottle of rosé instead,” I might actually say “You, pretty girl, wine-flushed, your rosy face is rosier still.”

But if in the end, what you actually decide to say is, “We’re gonna bring a case of wine, hey, let’s go mess and fool around you know, like we used to,” then it’s quite likely that what I’ll say is, “Who can leap the world’s ties and sit with me among the white clouds?”

 



Categories: Wine & Poetry

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