The Days of Wine and Roses
The days of wine and roses bliss and scoff.
A lovely Autumn rain, whilst Paris blooms
with winsome hues. We’re arm in arm. I laugh.
I cradle blushing petals soft and plush.
Your smile could kill, seemed warm back then, as you
plant seeds of promise, slip the ring of thorns
upon its naive-me. Your muscles ripped,
my eyes pop out, so sure in love, am I.
The days of wine and roses riffed and bare.
A dance of slender boots and snowy slope —
oh if back then I'd known how steep, I’d run.
Your devil's breath did warm me to the toes.
The handsome grip (and I’d lose mine) was tight.
We’d throw back vine, make history, forget.
I’d tear my fingernails in love me nots.
The rosy scent was death upon my lips.
The days of wine and roses strangled me.
I’d never see the days of Spring. My youth,
with anguished eyes, did scream with your hot lies,
and now the cold dark soil — it oft does mock.
10/18/2019
Pick A Title, Vol 10 - Blank Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Each line 10 syllables per howmanysyllables.com
Title chosen: The days of wine and roses
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