The Last, Best Sips From Life's Glass

A vintage wine’s a precious gift! We see how much remains, can tease the tongue and ration it (and plumb life’s glass’s curves), fermented taste that knows no bounds (like one who’s drunk on life) where naked feet that brave sea’s edge would dance like Fred Astaire). Yet, human love can bring life joy champagne can’t know, won’t dare, a rose lacks colors to express (does Safety have a wife?), births sense that wafts more complex truths than touch our fragile nerves! Love thrills to taste what Vintner brews within breast’s soft domains! The sands of time glass meters out define just life, not Love, for Love, like light has frequencies that obfuscate opaque, that bounces off of all restraint and pierce what hides black holes that briefly own all galaxies, frail monsters of intent. Oh! In the end, is Love what’s left? The universe pays rent or this life’s dream Love can’t forget? Is this how heaven rolls? God’s entertainment’s our free will, true bliss when we awake? For now, we float on matter’s ark, imbibe ‘Return of Dove!’ Brian Johnston 17th of January in 2020