The wind twists the vines,
the night crushes grapes
where I married you
wading in the black creek,
I jumped from a rock,
we washed in the source,
you set fire to the trees,
the sky rises
from the honeysuckle
of your sweat,
you cover me with rain,
we drink the wine you bleed.
John Swain lives in Le Perreux-sur-Marne, France. His work has recently appeared in Wild Winds, an anthology published by Borderless Journal.
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