Poetry Like Wine
 

I pluck wispy words
from a passing breeze,
Warm them in my palms
'til they bloom,

Inhaling the delicate perfume
of verses yet unsown,
Ethereal tendrils take root
in the dark rich soil of the soul.

The creeping vines coil round
thorns piercing my heart's flesh,
Til drops of blood coagulate
and germinate into crimson grapes,

In the wine-press of my mind
I distill them into liquid verse,
Store them into the barrels of my pen
'til ink with time ferments to wine,

This brew of intoxicating verse cascades
and soaks into dry parchment,
Where seeds of tears unshed take root
to blossom into effervescent syllables.
 

Copyright 2000 "Poetry Like Wine" by Catherine Hermoso.  All Rights Reserved.