A drink from her cup.

I drink red wine before the fire;
She shares my cup with grace.
Cold winds howl, the fire’s blaze
Chases chill away.

I lay her down and drink my wine
From the hollow of her throat;
Spilling out across her breast,
My hungry lips then race.

Her navel is a tankard full
Of wine, ripe for the taking.
Below, out spills her own sweet wine;
A far more heady vintage.

Rosé cheeks.
Chablis skin.
Bordeaux tips her heaving breasts.
Claret cleft.
Merlot within.
Port-wine hood with Cognac crest.

I hope to drink eternally
And never have my fill.
From her lovely chalice sweet
Her love flows with a will…