THE DARKEST SHADE OF RED,
DARKER THAN HER
EBONY LOCKS,
THE DARKEST NIGHT
OF THE SOUL.
TWINKLING DIAMONDS
UPON HER LIPS,
AS IT GLIDES RIGHT IN.
INTO THE PARCHED SOFTNESS OF HER MOUTH.

SMOOTH LIKE SILK,
UNENDING LIKE A BEAUTIFUL DREAM,
A RIBBON OF RED DOWN HER THROAT.
SHE GIGGLES
AND WITH A SPARKLE
IN HER EYES,
LOOKS AT HER GLASS.
RAINBOWS OF COLOURS, DANCING THROUGH
THE CRYSTAL STEM.
'POUR ME ANOTHER', SHE SAYS 'FOR THE NIGHT IS STILL YOUNG'.

THE HEAVY SWEETNESS
OF THIS ELIXIR,
LIKE THE HAUNTING
SUMMER AIR,
RIPE WITH THE SCENT
OF LIFE
SOOTHES THE CHAOTIC MIND AND ALL SHE REMEMBERS
IS KEATS.

OH, IF ONLY ODES WERE EASY TO PEN.
ANOTHER SWIRL OF THAT CRIMSON SUNSET,
DOWN HER THROAT,
AND ANOTHER WHISPER,
'POUR ME ONE MORE'.

© Iris Autumn