the intimate whispers
of a lady in red,
the slippery curls
i could never forget,
daytime spent thinking
about her scead,
at night gently sipping
her stories i’ve read,
she’s written with words,
yet, stands in my mirror,
each day i step forward,
each day i am nearer,
with silk veil
her reflection dances,
like the lightest feathers
through the air she prances,
diamond glass in hand,
she’s in my red wine,
i’m sipping on her words,
getting lost with mine,
‘i like you’
i admit,
‘the red and taste of wine’
the candles i’ve lit,
‘i like you’
i say
‘for you is the only i.’
