You are my goblet of fine wine,
deep and full, aged to perfection,
plump red lips as grapes off the vine,
tastes mixed in perfect complexion.

Like wine that one drinks long and slow
to sense every subtle tone,
each sip brings something new to know,
our encounter is all my own.

I’m drunk on your complexity,
calmed by your scent before I drink,
yet moved by your intensity
until I know not what to think.

My symbol of celebration,
the proof of the Vintner’s daring,
cause and effect of elation,
your love is my perfect pairing.

Countless voices singing their little hymns
converge in a glorious harmony,
sing song lyrics that celebrate my whims
perform a symphony inside of me.

My heart conducts a most enchanted choir,
of booming bass sung to uplifting heights
and tenors sweeter than King David’s lyre,
a singer for each of my heart’s delights.

The joy within erupts in songs of praise
to a life hitting every perfect note,
and hearing what my inner chorus says
in melodies from places most remote.

All the conflicting voices had been wrong
until they all declared my love in song.

The endless mercy of her love
is a sustaining salvation.
Her judgment of my feeble soul—
the most awesome revelation.  

Her love is a merciful hand
to the undeserved in despair.
She judged my woeful heart’s intent
and placed her absolution there.

She cannot love without mercy,
as the living depend on rain.
She judged my spirit perfectly.
Her kindness washed away my pain.

The mercy with which she loves me—
the greatest blessing one can give.
Her judgment’s better than my own,
it makes the world in which I live.

This spirit is a fire that consumes,
that burns the words to ashes and embers,
energy rises in beautiful plumes,
revealing what the hidden remembers.

Drawn to the call of the consuming flame,
awed by the wonder of the mystery,
once burned by the spirit, never the same,
charred remnants become light of history.

Nothing can be done to dampen this soul,
this burning life can not be extinguished,
flames growing rapidly out of control
calling out a new hope for the vanquished.

I am consumed, but I shall not be burned.
This kiln of passion has purified me.
Seared in my mind are the lessons I’ve learned.
Burning love no longer terrifies me.

I’ve loved without loving being in love,
and loved with a love that I was scared of.
I’ve loved while hating I’d fallen so hard,
and been in love when loving left me scarred.

I’ve loved when love left me empty inside,
and love when loving felt like I had died.
I’ve loved when everything said I should not,
and been in love while I felt myself rot.

I’ve loved when I wished love would go away,
and loved dying with a heart in decay.
I’ve loved as if I was loving the pain,
and been in love pervasive disdain.

I’ve loved because I’ve refused to lose hope,
and loved as if I might someday elope.
I’ve loved the dream that a love could be true,
like the love that I love when loving you.

Contentment left me discontented,
dissatisfied with satisfaction.
Unselfishness left me resented,
attractiveness was no attraction.

Couldn’t depend on dependable,
and it was hard when it was easy.
Neediness became expendable,
and too much calm made me feel queasy.

Lost all passion for the passionate,
conflicted by the lack of conflict.
No more heart to be compassionate,
found imperfection in the perfect.

A good enough love was never good,
finding those loves not worth looking for.
I know now what I then understood—
love like ours is everything and more.

Her fine black hair like sculpted ebony
frames eyes like autumn leaves so deep and green.
Her face’s shape was made to smile at me,
Her lashes flutter and I know I’m seen.

Her nose sculpted to nestle against mine
with lips fully colored as ripened fruit.
She tilts her head to expose her neck line,
she’s elegant perfection, absolute.

Her shoulders give way to arms long and strong,
yet soft with tenderness of her embrace.
She draws me closer in them while I sleep
so that I wake to her angelic face.

I see in her the word beauty defined,
as if I coined the word in my own mind.

There are far too many goodbyes for me,
though in its own moment, each has its place.
There’s infinite goodbye variety,
from “see you soon” to gone without a trace.

The polite wave goodbye across a crowd,
the goodbye of one fixed in distant gaze,
hopeless and anguished goodbyes cried aloud,
relieved goodbye a babysitter says.

But two goodbyes rip me apart inside—
no return or return I know not when.
Which is worse I had hoped not to decide,
until I said the worse goodbye again.

Final goodbyes to one gone forever
hurt  less than “goodbye, love, till whenever.”

To touch her nakedness with my own
was to take our most human moment
and suspend it higher than the stars
where human beings had no right to be.

To kiss her while we met in bareness
was to transcend our humanity
and in our most ****** pleasure
feel totally unconfined freedom.

To make love with nothing between us
was to make humans’ humanity
and have the two come alive as one
where life itself is understatement.