John Lusardi – Stained
The full blooded body of wine, “is it Wine”?
Stains your already deep Rose lips
Through the green of the glass vessel,
Behind the dying flame of wax, I see you.
Wine stains your dress and lips;
While your lips stain my heart and memories
Our hearts bleed others red blood; the red blood!
Which stains our hands into eternity?
Your hands touch my lips; my lips stained with blood
We sip once again the staining wine,
Two streams trickle but never touch,
Even the sunlight now glows red,
But never casts our shadow
And the box remains un-opened,
Long is the awakening sleep for Transparent Vampires.
- Posted in: Poetry