that is smooth sangria down the throat
Audrey Bean Chmielowski

crooked eyelash
gnarly, toothy
snookie snookie
with a grin like chocolate suckle
that is smooth sangria down the throat
artichoke belt buckle
enjoy the comfortable finale
"forget i'm filthy, from the alley"

chicky? chicky! are you sleeping?
i have been for 16 years
dreaming loads of lovely fellows
strong enough to show me tears
i have wasted the best of charms i've ever tasted;
the stairs fall down beneath my heel

i greet your frowns
my toes on the line
i drink with a hunger
from a gallon of wine
encourage the blur
allow the feel

do they think that i am beautiful?
do they think that i am real?

Mar 13, 2013

What are the words
I mean to say?
This drink, it flows,
Inside my veins,
And life, it moves
And flows for me
Yet worldly pleasures
Drive the weak.
As I long
To tell you these,
All I can say
Are words that please.
I love you
I love you,
Do I,
Do I?

Sweetheart, dream.
And listen on
To the stars that flow
From here
To beyond.

Into that Sangria containing my sweet fruit
Teresa Magana
Teresa Magana
Jan 17, 2012

My Sweetness
My Fruit
Little bits of sourness that I have felt from dealing with boys ,..that I’ve let come, …in my life,…and just pass on through,
Like Tita from Agua Para Chocolate
Pouring her energy
Her feelings
Her heart in every dish she made
I poured and poured
10 bottles of red wine…Passionate red vibes
Into that Sangria containing my sweet fruit
And just a little bit,…little bite of lime
That little bit of sourness I hold inside
My energy flowing through every smile, word, and laughter that floated in the air
And bounced from vibe to vibe
And what did I get in return?
Not only the satisfaction of seeing and feeling everyone have such a great time
Giggles from buzzed and tipsy steps of folks passing me by
But the collection of singles, overflowing in the cute bartender’s tip jar
It was your singles
And his singles
And even her singles that filled up that jar
The collection of singles that fed the creative force of souls that night
Fed the souls
Fed the minds
Fed us with creativity
But most importantly
Fed us with awesome tacos at 2:30 in the morning from a place we happened to find right around the block
My Sangria bought us tip jar tacos that night

Sangria boulevard.
Jun 27, 2012

The idea shrank so suddenly, I thought it to be fictional.
I thought it to be an elusive dream, a ghost, my
   mother's sanity.

The idea tasted the back of my head and reared
    it's front to the stars.

My throat gave birth to a baby bird on
   Sangria boulevard.

but in your saliva, sangria.
Marco Avre
Marco Avre
Nov 26, 2011

Could it be that our blood boils
at the exact same hour?
That two ignited souls
do not fit in the same room?

Could it be that you're not my rib
and that's why you don't hurt me?
Could it be that we don't live life
the way we are supposed to?

And that's why I love you,
three or four times I
I love you

And you come
with a cosmos in the forehead,
with your dead ones on the back,
and between the legs
you wear
the most beautiful sunset

In one fist, stormy days,
in the other, balmy days,
In one, tears of chamomile
on the other, sweat and mint,
but in your saliva, sangria.
Sangria to maintain the blood cool.

Could it be that we are dust violated
by the slightest provocation?
Between lip and lip,
between nipple and nipple -
- I love you.

Four or five times I,
I love you.

Sangria stain that will
Alexander Doss
Mar 8, 2010

Standing at the gates of Hell
Entrance, One lead ticket I need
Questions will abound about
The way I came, not about
The way I will leave
Typical for those who
Will step over the
Sangria stain that will
Pool  around my jeans,
Drawing the curtains close
My journey ready to begin
The darkness embraces me
As a lover before
A mortal sin.
I inhale, and relax, for the
Way into the light depends on the
Might of a rockets front end.


Just trying out different genres!

Chillin’ in limbo, sippin’ on sangria, and eatin’ on my pride.
Jessica Leigh Bryant

You’re a groovy tomato dancin’ with loose-tongued disco fries.
Chillin’ in limbo, sippin’ on sangria, and eatin’ on my pride.
Racin’ on a superhighway with scorchin’ thumbs and eloquent lies,
But my guts are wrenchin’ and my eyelashes are flashin’, much to your surmise.
I drank your love like a dino, now I’m bringin’ out your prehistoric side.
Baby, I can run your city with a stogie and a midget dancin’ in disguise,
But this shit, it don’t mean nothin’, or at least not what you’ve implied.

Of shitty sangria
Jimmy King
Jimmy King
Sep 25, 2013      Sep 25, 2013

Though I’ve been ready for bed
Since the moment I woke up
I take one more sip
Of shitty sangria

One more “drag”-
As I’ve been taught to call it
By the older, cooler, kids
Who take a lot more drags
Than myself-
On a cheap cigarette

One more kiss
On one more set of lips

And one more fleeting thought
That maybe it’s all just part of
A single careless search
For the set of lips that kisses back;
A search with no regard for
Whatever face to which those lips
Could be mounted...

Though I know that’s not true-
As I finally
Close my eyes,
I know (I think)
That’s simply
Just not true

desert sangria
Dec 15, 2011

I have come to conclusion
over sunpierced crust
brittle as tobacco leaf
astride mottled nag
scraggling on loose gravel
leadheavy in lid
past dactyled tracks
parallel cobbled macadam
wavering shale
lockjawed lava rock
fractured cobalt
lone juniper
forgotten scrub
open boil of tar and pitch
halfburied bones of leviathan
still shifting in the clouded boom
of stone
through grapeshot hail
adobed pueblos
thatchskinned women
and straw men
all witches
flaying the gila
pestling scale with cornmeal
and fermented mescal
desert sangria
hallucinating sideways in the murk
where coyotes yip
and each star a conflagration
mirrored in the captive eyes
of floundered meteorites
at the terminus
where sun and moon merge
I know the question
and response
from where do you come
to where do you go

fresh sangria and lemon tea.
Conor Oberst
Conor Oberst
Sep 2, 2012

At the center of the world
there's a statue of a girl.
She is standing near a well
with a bucket, bare and dry.

I went and looked her in the eyes
and she turned me into sand.
This clumsy form that I despise;
it scattered easy in her hand

and came to rest upon a beach
with a million others there.
We sat and waited for the sea
to stretch out so that we could disappear

into the endlessness of blue;
into the horror of the truth.
You see, we are far less than we know.
Yeah, we are far less than we knew.

But we know what we could taste
Girls found honey to drench our hands.
Men cut marble to mark our graves.
Said we'll need something to remind us of
all the sweetness that has passed through us;
fresh sangria and lemon tea.
The priests dressed children for a choir.
white robed small voices praise Him
but found no joy in what was sung.
The funeral had begun.

In the middle of the day
when you drive home to your place
from that job that makes you sleep,
back to the thoughts that keep you awake,

long after night has come to claim
any light that still remains
in the corner of the frame
that you put around her face.

Two pills just weren't enough.
The alarm clock's going off
but you're not waking up.
This isn't happening happening happening
happening happening. It is.

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