Vintage Of Your Age Poem by Captain Cur

If I am doomed to never taste your lips;
young, anxious grape, eager for the wine
though intoxicated by your swaying hips
I will not take you early from the vine.

I patiently await the vintage of your age;
full ripened fruit insures the bottle's worth,
than to prematurely place you in that cage
though your textured curves instill a sudden thirst.

Rather, I would count the grains of sand
content to watch you sleep away the sun
then have you fall ready in my hand
until at last your harvest has begun.

Gently I would press your flavor loose,
wherein lays the essence of your tears,
and taste the sweetness of your juice
savoring that memory throughout the years!