All good things must come to an end
grandfather clock. I gaze at you.
Perfect man. Greek God. Bad boy.
All rolled into one. Eyes like shiny shells
of sea urchins. Lips as moist as plums,
or the sweetest gift from the vine.
Sweet allure of coconuts. Desiccated,
or dripping delicately down the palm.
I will lose myself in that tonight.
We drink our fill of Cabernet Sauvignon,
perfected for decades in our sleepless cellar.
Ninety-four years old. Flush as a
The time ticks into twilight.
We gaze into glasses.
Twirl the liquid that sparkles
like infant’s blood, barely touched
by sour air. Dancing legs
play spring notes on our tongues.
A toast to the tapestry of your
Renaissance beauty. For now,
not marking the beats of its