Mulled Wine
Life, growth, love, hope, and time, are all within reach of a forever decaying vine.
Drink not to expire but, to save these grapes from a final fate, a late cask.
Bite down hard and through the skin to such dense desired flesh.
Whisper to this fire an assay avowed.
It turns from axiomatic heat
to ashes.
Noah Soria Kevy runs, reads, and writes. He mulls wine only occasionally with cinnamon, brown sugar, star anise and apples. Mulled Wine was written during September of Twenty-twenty-two. After it was written, Noah mailed it promptly out-of-state to his Grandmother.
Life, growth, love, hope, and time, are all within reach of a forever decaying vine.
Drink not to expire but, to save these grapes from a final fate, a late cask.
Bite down hard and through the skin to such dense desired flesh.
Whisper to this fire an assay avowed.
It turns from axiomatic heat
to ashes.
Noah Soria Kevy runs, reads, and writes. He mulls wine only occasionally with cinnamon, brown sugar, star anise and apples. Mulled Wine was written during September of Twenty-twenty-two. After it was written, Noah mailed it promptly out-of-state to his Grandmother.
