Musings over Montepulciano de Abruzzo

The fountain of glory bleeds red
A rose is but a flower
Flesh and stone strewn about velvet paverment
To die is to live again

A virgin calls tenderly
Bent to obfuscation, she cries dry tears
Why live to die again
Vastness my lover, that is why

You saturate my heart
I love you now but mind
Love is strange