A Fine Vintage

The light of glowing tapers
wraps a sleek-curved bottle;
liquid flares in ruby stream.

We share “The true,
the blushful Hippocrene,”
from one thin-stemmed glass

and smile through
delicate crystal as
lights spark off the rim

like the sun that seduces
the promiscuous globe
from fragile, curling vine.

A single sip
bursts on the palate with
the fiery blood of grapes,

the flavor redolent
of earthy rains, harvest fruits,
and vineyard presses,

of full-blown lips with
dark promises. Drowsing eyes
nod to Bacchus in reverence.

As flames gutter, the winds
play a silver-blue nocturne
which echoes the sultry storm.

Tangled together in clamoring silence,
heightened awareness, senses ablaze;
purpled lips trace a blooming rose.

My head spins madly, wildly…
Is it the Burgundy
touching me or is it you?

August: 2007

Origami
                                                                                   
Pale blossoms
shiver in folds
of moonlight.

Under cover
of clouds, they
come disguised
as hope.

Reality intrudes,
pressing its body
in their fragile path.

Pressing closer,
a sweltering void
blankets thoughts;

a wilting mind
starves.

What place is
left for dreams,
squeezed out
by shadow’s eyes ?

September:  2007

Subway Ride

His mode of transport
is a novelty for me.
I try not to touch

or breathe too deeply
of the metallic chill
and body crush.

We’re both in jeans,
my son and I,
riding the subway.

He is staring ahead
thinking God knows what.
We don’t shout above the

din or we’d be hoarse.
I frown as a girl wriggles by
casting a lascivious glance

his way. Over-painted,
tightly-clad, she smiles
and sits right next to him.

Hands off, I want to say
he is still a child,
but he’s not. I see his

shoulders straighten
as he catches, and
returns her smile.

October: 2007