White rose, cabernet.
A poem.
You took a white rose and dipped it
In a glass of cabernet—
And yesterday the mountains were violet on the horizon
Though today they’ve been enveloped in a matte layering of feather white snow—
I took a glass of chardonnay
And I watched it spiral down the drain—
And the teapot is simmering, wining
Spewing out steam coming to its boiling—
And last night the yard was blue
And the crests of little waves churned up by winter winds in the pool were quartz
And the moon, last night, hung lower than usual, emitted light brighter than usual—
Though tonight, I know she’s not likely to make such an appearance.
So tonight, the yard, the crests of waves, the cabernet roses, the mountains— they will all be black.
Never is there anything wrong with that.
About the Creator
Grant Wrich
Hey guys, thank you for checking out my page! I'm a queer poet based in Las Vegas, Nevada who also currently works as a barista. I hope you guys enjoy my work! Also feel free to check out my Instagram page, @gwrich.poetry
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