A glass of wine is nothing when I think
Of how my lover tastes, and her bouquet
Like Beauty which compels my soul to drink
I need a glass or two of her each day
She’s sweet and tart; she’s crisp and dry, select
If similes are wine, she’s like them all
If drunkeness is love, then I suspect
I’m drunk enough to hope that when I fall
I fall into my lover’s arms, her bed
And tremble with my sex against her skin
But if I’m not that drunk, I’ll hope, instead
To make sweet love with her and come within
Her Beauty is my sweetest glass of wine
My lover’s taste is sweet, and she is mine!