an ode to the moon and her galaxies - a poetry collection

Vino

You have mellow chardonnay eyes

golden and drinking, almost silent

in observation, the smell of grapes

and your lacrosse hoodie fills up my lungs,

so heart-wrenchingly loud

but it's so quiet here.

Your hands crescendo through my hair so soft

I forget to sleep and my heart

turns applesauce soft

then the nightmare flashes

you kiss my forehead as I sigh,

and you tell me you love me, your deep voice

laid on like grape jelly on monday

morning toast;

this love will be the penultimate

sommelier's blend: one that sinks the carolinas

and drowns me in pinot gris

and gold blood.