What is it about this ghost-like colony of libation? Delightfully dizzy. Loving wine, securing my spine and mind. Cab, Merlot, Syrah, Malbec, all specs in my spirit. Medicine, melody for Mike. Can’t touch 1k without some grape. To typos I might go ...
Take light to date night, shake life to states’ blithe.
I’m a curve on the table, a blurb in the fable.
Zinfandel, I sinned and fell into the well. Can’t the
Self sell. Tempranillo, I sent a Leo a message that
this Gemini, Vemini is making his character known.
They’re scared of my zone, each bone, tone. Leave
the poets alone.
Here I am, thriving on the keyboard, at no dive bar. Sipping in my sanctuary. The character of this bottle, beauteous, brave, bewitching. I’ll keep stumbling, in awe of the winemaker. My sister, how does she do what she does? All I do is journal. Katie makes occasions, memories. We, writers, everywhere. Winemakers, like the little sis, anomalous, true vanguards.
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