Cells are fast.
And I can’t
stay too much behind.
Cells love their crowd,
for better or worse.
I can't be but
part of them
even if I pretend,
like many of you,
to be beyond and aloof.
Just pretending we even more
become the proof.
So, red wine
and blood.
In the red, the dark red,
in and beyond strife.
In all the explosions
and all that’s resettled
in the pulse of life.
Red wine always
good for the blood.
A thick red
staring
and flowing forward.
I'm drinking now
and getting drunk
on its stamina of "yes".
On my own Moorish wall.
In the sun of the fall,
evening blood
always taking its good toll.
2 comments:
A splendid poem that improves with rereading - like a good red wine with keeping. Love it.
Nice blog
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