hands break pieces dark uneven
fingers squeeze the bottle red, into a freshly picked glass
plate holds ceremonial a desert dry

be careful what you read into what I write
and I will be careful into what I bite,
this was not an exchange of ideals

dark chocolate, pieces three, late with a plate with
two ginger bread soft snaps, my momma
makes, two together, microwave whether
you trust that machine, till a lift soft and a little warm

no harm to drink the wine with each sweet, spicy soft bite,
hold
for
a moment
in your mouth and taste, the Syrah deep inside the cookie,
as the dark chocolate melts in your mouth, coating teeth,
beneath a moon the clouds want to hide, and all to me
is perfectly clear, just for now. Oh ginger SNAP! softly and quietly
it is late...