if love
were wine
we would
be drunk
furtively wallowing
liquid love
it should
but fiction
insane exists
only in
my continental
fermenting mind
glass half-full
ripe grapes
love's corsage
merlot thoughts
champagne wants
still mould
mulled wine
spores dropped
spoiled mead
love passed
drunken stead
love stopped
fermented dread
tormented love
Bacchus fed
imbibe love
love poems
bottled red

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