I drink red wine before the fire;
She shares my cup with grace.
Cold winds howl, the fire’s blaze
Chases chill away.
I lay her down and drink my wine
From the hollow of her throat;
Spilling out across her breast,
My hungry lips then race.
Her navel is a tankard full
Of wine, ripe for the taking.
Below, out spills her own sweet wine;
A far more heady vintage.
Bordeaux tips her heaving breasts.
Port-wine hood with Cognac crest.
I hope to drink eternally
And never have my fill.
From her lovely chalice sweet
Her love flows with a will…
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<a href="https://www.lushstories.com/stories/love-poems/a-drink-from-her-cup.aspx">A drink from her cup.</a>