...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jeo3an2M_Lo

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Those are just grapes; 

if you really wanted wine 

you should have stepped on them

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           by now.

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His hatred had grown 

pungent - it was starting 

to develop an odor.  

It smelled like 

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rotten fruit,

like pomegranates,

yeast and

cane-sugar.

.

It smelled rotten, sour, 

.

like mildew over

raspberries,

like raisins, 

or dates,

.

like a thin film 

of petty resentments 

that'd formed over

day old chocolate-cake.

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If he let his hatred mature, a little -  

another year in storage - 

might be that he could bottle it,

brand it at the farmer's market:  

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At Long Last, Liquid Courage.

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