Years and Minutes

Nov 24 2014

I gush; my river flows from heart to throat.

My whine is young and sweet to one who sips

but bitter blood to one who drinks to bloat.

I placed a single drop upon your lips.

You wanted me to overbrim your cup–

but you would not. You know not what I gave.

You want a carnal tongue to fill you up.

I want a word of love or two to save.

You say you don’t recall the night’s exchange,

but how could it be diff’rent in the morn

unless my hope for love was passing strange

or your affections passed their hour born?

For one night, drink can black out what we do.

It cannot blot the years I’ve cared for you.


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