Woman (This Cup Runneth Over) January 23, 2012
Woman, I can only express
My simple tastes in confidence.
It is written that I shall love no other
Than the one who holds the key to my heart.
Ah! But my countenance tells the tale,
A tale of much love and passion
For her to sail the Seven Seas
Unto a paradise of bliss.
I bid her, "Fair thee well!",
And pour a cup of wine
For spiritual guidance.
Woman, dare I digress?
Dare I tarry toward an end
That would, suffice it to say,
Be rushing the inevitable?
The inevitable, that is love-laden?
The inevitable, that, to make a point,
Is timeless as no amount of sand in an hour glass
Can possibly shift to an abysmal state?
This cup runneth over,
And this cup hath overflown.
This cup, a container of wine,
A biscuit to the side,
Her hand, with mine, coincide
In unison.
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