I age my poems
in dark musty cellar
'till they mellow and moan
begging to be brought to light
I bury them there
in oaken casks, stained purple
flavoring them full of
funky terroir
Abandoned on a shelf in
old green glass
imprisoned by cork
unlabeled
I age my poems
banished 'till rhyme ripens
in dim hopes one day
they'll tickle someone's tongue
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 2:36 PM UTC
I age my poems
in dark musty cellar
'till they mellow and moan
begging to be brought to light
I bury them there
in oaken casks, stained purple
flavoring them full of
funky terroir
Abandoned on a shelf in
old green glass
imprisoned by cork
unlabeled
I age my poems
banished 'till rhyme ripens
in dim hopes one day
they'll tickle someone's tongue
Nothing like an old wine. But I like grape juice too.
