Tipsy Lover

Words have served their purpose.
It is time for wine.
Wine of trees and stars.
Wine of sleeping birds
cradled in holly.
Wine of burgundy night.
Even darker wine
of silence.
Listen for moonlight
in the modest sigh of pines.
Walk nowhere for hours,
amazed by duration,
the ever-expanding moment,
the sparkling in the hollow
of your heart.
Come back tipsy, lover.
Do not speak of what
or whom
you have known.

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