by Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer
a mouthful glistening
with drops
a cup of wine or beer
for most of us
at least for me
is greeted with some cheer
I look, I smell, anticipate
I taste
familar thirst
as when a grape
rolls on my tongue
and then with teeth I burst
and spill delightful juice
and swallow quenching, lush to taste
and savor I
like scent of pie
from fork to mouth in haste
the starving soul
or body
weakened flesh and bankrupt heart
cares not for taste nor happiness
nor loves the brewer's art
but screams
from loneliness
and knows no company to keep
but scrabbles vainly in its lair
and makes the hole more deep
a banquet are You, Love,
of fruit and wine and thick, red beef
and I will look and taste and smell
and treasure that relief
which You alone can give to those
who've felt Your passion's kiss
and all else seems
but pointless dreams
and You eternal bliss
