Crystals of glass shimmer
like a stemmed globe in the sun.
Only classy people drink wine.
A sweet sting on my tongue
the cold air ripping through
Like the sharp lingering smell
of fancy cheese.
The smoothness of an eye’s flutter
and hot brushed cheeks of nervous red
to savor a punch.
We thought we were grownups in
Classy people aren’t the only ones
who drink wine
two kids playing grownups do, too.
We ran around like idiots
crumbling to the velvet
Exhausted from laughing
we never had to say a word.
Mother Nature smothered his lungs
turned them to soot.
But we drift into the clouds when
I have the charm of a foal.
We fall into spring skipping through
the prickly bristles of sunlight
painting our hair a tinge of grey.
Our puckered lips and tongues so fuzzy
with the bitter tang of golden honey.