With sweet, Chardonnay…
and I your, Van Winkle,
sing me an Aria, little cricket.
My diva of summer nights,
so fragile the music,
as the sky grows so cold.
A shadow comes over the moon,
serendipitous me a placebo,
on untamed grass.
With a thousand bows as if a soprano,
just before the dawn awakens,
my Van Winkles eyes.











Nice ink to wake up to.
Bat
Thank you, Bat.