iv. Drunk on the taste of y o u

You are in the first drop and the last—

poured slow and velvet-bright,

in the forgiving darkness

of the cave of life.

I won't even attempt

to pretend I don't want to

hoard you like

a connoisseur

collects

dead poets' wine.

I will not stop, not ever

swallowing, swallowing, swallowing y o u.

Not until you keep pouring

your tannic self

into my goblets.

Until your cellar runs empty,

until there are no more grapes to crush,

and even the lees

taste holy.

And still,

I would tip the glass

to my lips

for one final drop.

I started a Substack called 'A Wildly Enchanted Life' where I help people build an enchanted creative life—one where writing, meaningful work, nature, imagination, and intentional living are woven together into a life that feels like it belongs to them.

Read my latest reader requested post on how to write banging poems: