A Sip of Merlot

When next my eyes are blessed to set on you, May that be soon or further down the line, Will tears refuse to paint with only blue, And choose instead less colors viewed as mine; I’ll see no beauty where it was before, No lilac petals shall your garden grow, And that it won’t, in dark, then to a store, Where bottles sold are filled with fine merlot; One sip is all these words will need to slur, That tell left feet, a pair, attached my legs, To stumble forth when hunger might occur, But hear eternal hollow famished begs; For years have passed since wine thin veins unwind, Same your resplendence which turns vision blind.