The God of Wine (Poem)
- bpk298
- May 4
- 1 min read
Updated: May 11
The God of Wine is right on time
He pops a bottle; he lays out lines
I dance with him - it’s three; it’s six
It’s nine; it’s noon
Just one more hit
The God of Wine is in my bed
I give him solace; he gives me dread
We leave silhouettes of acrid sweat
Fallen snow angels
A holy mess
The God of Wine is up for days
He tweaks and geeks; he’s in a haze
“Make them to leave,” he pleads with me
I kiss his neck
Put him to sleep
The God of Wine comes back again
I open up and let him in
“Let me borrow a little more?”
I shake my head
I close the door
The God of Wine has lost his mind
He brays and foams; he writhes and cries
I rub his back and hold his head
His craving’s bright
His eyes are dead
The God of Wine is out of time
No more binges; no more lies
He’s still and wan and clothed in black
His memory burns
I don’t want him back
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