Wine and Roses

Wine and Roses

by

Dorian Doman


"They are not long, the days of wine and roses." --Ernest Dowson


Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I don't make money off it. I'm a poor, but humble (at least most of the time) student/librarian-type thing. Who would want to sue me? Was it the incident when I kicked someone's camel?

The moon was lit pale silver;
The night was sweet with wine.
And sweet is wine, and love,
Beneath the jeweled black sky.

But few stop to think
How far one's love must go,
To have a limitation
Else to reap what one has sown.

And few stop to think
How love could be a sin.
To never think of starting
And yet somehow begin.

And it is in that silent night
Filled with love and wine,
That one might find desire
And that mating is divine.

Wine is a poison, one should think,
From everything it does:
Create desire, obscure thoughts,
Obtain a brother's love.

But they gave wine-filled kisses
Beneath a wine red moon.
In unison, wine-filled bodies moved
To their own wine filled tune.

As honey drips from wax combs,
They mated through the night
And slept curled in the other's arms
Until the morning's light.

For sweet is honey to ,
A,
And bitter to the rest,
But one must not always try it
To think one knows the best.


Some think that honey is the best,
And others might think cream -
Cream that filled the younger's hand
At his brother's lust-filled scream.

Some think that honey is the best,
Bote wie wild and tame,
But there are always the few
That think honey the same.

But cream can be a bitter drought
When one drinks and not the rest
Although when the drought is tasted,
One might find he likes it best.

Like when the older kneels to take
The younger in his mouth,
And suckles soft the heated flesh
Until the cream comes out.

Sweet sin it is to think such thoughts!
It's my own brother I adore!
But one does not know the beauty
Of simple sex and so much more.

Or when he cries out your name,
And lips meet in a desperate kiss.
Or of the bond that only
Between siblings exists.

Sin has always been in love
Since first the start of man.
The fruit of red desire
Soon became his bane.

The tree of good and evil
Bares positives tabooed,
But some good things are suffered,
Which not so many do.

For many gods will come and pass,
Yet people stay the same.
So is it not the people
Who must instead take the blame?

Perhaps each star-crossed lover's tale
Ends in its own unjust,
But does it not all begin
With fruit and love and lust?