Wine, Baby

I am nervous,
i can tell you are too.
Your fingers drum and drum,
to scattered, frenetic beats,
made up to fill the time,
to cross the chasm of the table.

We touch wine glasses.
And in those darkened ruby depths,
comes a baby,
fat and happy,
with red-stained teeth,
a little drunkard's jigsaw smile,
full of mirth and guile.

Baby, I see too, where you can not,
in future wine glasses, dark and deep,
our life in a valley, stretched by sun,
wreathed in misty vineyards.
Where sky and rain meet,
Our life begins.

So, don't be nervous,
don't be discreet,
I hear the patter of little feet.

I toast you,
our life together,
may it be true and full,
like well-aged wine.

May you forgive my mistakes.
Well, really, our mistake.
the one that runs on little feet
with wine-stained teeth.

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