Intoxication
We drink mouthfuls ofthick Monbazillac wine,
its almost treacle sweetness
sliding smoothly as
glasses overfill.
How we laugh,
a pannier filled
with feastings
and a warm sun
imbibing us with the
hilarity of living love
as copious quantities
of birds humming
in tune to us.
Lying out,
limbs browning like
a sauce that
marinades in our
own special recipe.
We share the wine
between kisses then
intoxicated we fall
silent and sleep
under a canopy of trees.
Poetry by Elle
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Written on 2008-01-11 at 11:08
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