Falling snowflakes melt in wine—
In toast, my eyes to yours incline;
Through solitude you softly wend
Back again, my ancient friend!
Nascent sip, flustered quiver—
Holding terror in the shiver—
Privy to your shrouded spell,
I'm lured upon the carousel;
Cajoling sigh of winter's death
Into sweetest whispered breath,
You promise scented heliotrope,
Inciting fevered gyroscope.
Under pendulous, flowery fold—
Tantalized, beyond the scold—
I feel your velvet brush my pulse,
Which, beating, throbbing, shrill—exults!
You sound the wren upon the flute,
He sings of long-forbidden fruit,
And, swallowed, piquant notes compel
The frenzied, dizzy bagatelle—
Round and round, you, verdant, sway,
As wholly, madly, gladly gay,
I gulp the wine, smash the glass—
Drunk, I'm yours, upon the grass!
– Jennifer van Westrum