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Sitting here sipping an aged wine—
A smooth lush blend—sweetly tingling
My being with a temporary ecstasy; soon
To be flowed out and flushed away, leaving
A bottle filled with the emptiness of its memory.
But there is nothing like a well-aged love;
Smooth, mellowed and sweeten with time;
Filling bottle-hearts with a fermented ecstasy
That continues to flow even though it may seem—
To us—the speed of life appears to be slowing down.
Eventually, an old empty fine wine bottle
Meets its dumped fate; cracking and breaking
Into many scattered little pieces; however, although
Many suns have risen and set, leaving us some wrinkles,
There is not even a little crack in our well-aged love…Nothing.
