The Warm Wine

Well, leave it to the poet to take his own euphemism and, through generalization, make it a broader, sweeter statement. I ynderstand the musical version of this will be on his new CD "Amomancer: nightblooming".

The Warm Wine

She was midnight. Bright light and warm as life and fire.
Soft lips. Her hips made for the touch of this man’s hands.
Dark hair. Nowhere did she deny her true desire.
Kisses wander beyond her heart. Naked she stands.
Her breath, small death. Bright light. Delight, her vows inspire.
Warm wine drawn out to share. So fair. Her bed: Pain’s pyre.
Sentimental. Sacramental. Gentle demands.

She was the gate of fate, burning my heart ashen.
Waking. Taking. Slaking her thirst with me, the well.
Draining and sustaining my heart in her fashion.
Soft. And sweetly. And completely lifts me from Hell.
Tender splendor, no pretender to her passion.
Angel made flesh she seems a dream. Pale permission
To touch and trust when dust is legacy I know too well.

I will lay back and her attack will make me bleed
wounds of a love, cleansing for the sowers passage.
Make way the grey and play and stay. Fulfill my need.
In her mission no division: Peace and couer rage.
Warm wine. Divine. Consign me to life, I concede.
Release and cease the days of grey, just come and feed.
Let me, set me to her purpose. Share my vintage.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.