Brushing her soft flaxen hair
From her tormented face,
I see a tear trace down
Where many more have fallen;
They lie at her feet, unremarked,
Like my withering soul.
Oh, how I want to take this woman
Who is my love, my heart, my life
Into my fierce embrace!
Wishing only to taste the
Delicate vintage of her full lips,
Instilling her with a more heady
Bouquet, allowing the robust mixture
To reach fusion,
Igniting her soul once more,
Thereby breaching the barriers that seem
To have sprung up before my
Unmindful eyes.
Her inner turmoil prevents me
As I see by her rigid posture
That any solicitation on my part
Would be unwelcome
And misconstrued.
Instead, we stand as if isolated,
The separation so vast that it is
As if we are worlds apart.
And my heart breaks for the taste
Of her lesbian wine.

March 25, 1999