Ian Anderson 5 p.m., Dec. 8
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In wine with you
Love has marooned my tongue. Which is o.k. My cheeks were full of its dryness. So, let’s not talk of love but of wine. Grapes have always been easier to swallow Especially, ever since I’ve been in wine with you.
As I put these words down, With every swallow from your cup Not mincing words, But expressing taste without much ado Untying my tongue because I’m in wine with you.
Let’s not mention love She will requite us when she returns Can we wallow in fruitfulness of our pallets? And trap the woe into our new glass house.
Can we enjoy the blend of our full bodies? Swallowing our wine for what it is and not what we want it to be Letting our lips embrace their new companion - like glass in a winery Or barrels in a vineyard
Wine makes us more imaginative Not for the comforting of the soul, but for raising the awareness of being in wine's company Don’t speak to me of love. The inanimate object that needs animate objects to be.
Speak of wine, Our ardent respirator For without whom, My lips would become a corpse with a beating chest Let’s enjoy the exhausting of the bottle Drinking from both ends Consuming our wine as the glass approaches emptiness.