spilled wine

the wine had been spilled
its red stained the floorboards
its tattered remains hung on the air
a stale scent of wasted wines
and the echoes of a lovers spat
shouts in the sultry tropical night
and two sets of footprints leaving the concrete into the sand
two sets to the shore

the book turned face down
some french novelist from some ages ago
his light phrase danced upon the ear with pleasing turns
his notions gave her pause in the humid day
pat dry the damp on her brow
as the rich tones reached deeper than
some romantic notion and erotic song of the eye
some deep and dire need answered
by his romantic words
and the touch of her perfumed hand
on the door knob of the hearts secrets places
just that light touch is all
after all its a long day in the tropical sun
and theres the cooking to be done

i asked of her
if she would have loved me if she had known me
if we had been children together
if she could have cared for me
when i lived a dark man
in a dark place
she said but of course
she said that we shall be as children here in our ages
and i would have brought you light in that dark place
as i shall love thee just as dearly
you are the grapes of my wine
i am drunk on your taste in my soul

two sets of prints lead out to the shore
came together out in the wash of moonlight
on sandy shore
and lay as one in the forgiving light
and lay as one in the night
like spilled wine
intoxicating the soul