Merlot Poem by Mark Heathcote

I traverse the evening with a glass of wine
From a newly opened bottle of Merlot
In the morning my head will ache!
Ache with the growth of a cherry stone
Embedding its roots, suckering up
To punch its way out; skywards

But for now, I am content to just lie
In her arms watch the sunset
Strawberry lips rose-tinted
On our white empty wardrobes
Whose door lays still slightly agape?

Reminding me of all our chores,
Left like cemetery flowers.
You never have a mind to clear
Soon it'll be 2 A.M. then even 4
We'll hear the milk delivered
And wonder what the hell for.