Saturday, March 17, 2007

#328: March 17, 2007

My darling is an angel of the vineyard,
of barley malt and spirits all distilled.
Songs worthy of her praise have never been heard,
and won't until this Cup of Life is filled.

She brings me grapes pressed down to their quintessence,
the nectar of the fragrant, bitter hop;
all liquors taste the sweeter in her presence--
without her, champagne corks refuse to pop.

No cocktail that will ever be invented
can make me drunk as I am on her voice;
and no extract that's ever been fermented
could dethrone my intoxicant of choice.

Give me your lips, my love! Let me drink deep,
and stupefied upon your bosom sleep.

1 comment:

middleclasstool said...

Here's to ye.