Sonnet No. 1

with Angie LaPaglia

The cork is perfect. I will pour the wine
that smells of forests, fairy tales and lies.
Our jackets hang loud, like a neon sign
playing every color of the skies.

"Skies" I say, of course there's more than one.
I've been beneath a thousand, haven't you?
The one white hot and fearless as the sun,
and down the ranks of passion, until blue.

We could pretend we're fine, at least content
to watch this night in ringlets trail and burn,
then stumble home a path of sweet forget
as the stone beneath our feet completes a turn.

Or we could stay, and welcome the hues of dawn.
After all, the cork is perfect. The wine is poured.

Written with Angie LaPaglia