Skills Of The Artisan Revealed Poem by Stan Petrovich

The brujo of Love:
He was an artisan.
He was born bright white
With an archer's arrow
In tow.
Met him once or twice
And he led me down a glorious path
To perfect love aglow.
The fireplace crackled as we spent some yuletide times
Together, lying on a mat,
Drinking the wine of Dionysius,
Who visited us there,
And thereby we crackled too,
In lust & love commingling
With the brick wall,
Behind,
In view.