Drinking the Fine Wine of Poetry
I love the fine
poetic wine
of dancing words and rhyme;
I drink the words
and though it hurts
I love this drunken high.
I cannot think
but only drink
and feel the flowing wine
on my tongue
the tongue of one
whose words melt into mine.
The intercourse
of soul and words,
the movements in the deep
are why I read
and why I need
to drink this wine, and weep.