The pursuit of intense flavour

The chalice lies in the sward

A trace of burgundy

On its rim,

Shining against the blue,

Way above the skein and their cry.

Bare feet laugh in red glaze

As you feel the fanciful

Smell of dewy skin.

I say eternity is born

In the green of the spring

And stays alive in the tall grass

Where I can lay a forgiving embrace

On my deeply imperfect moments.

Is the sun to my side alone,

Or does it warm your bareness as well?

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