Surplus Heart Of Wine... By (Mimi Mata Meyer) Poem by Mimi Mata

I will not cry tonight,
I do not want to gather in the rain,
Then shrivel beneath the sun...
I am tired of these things,
And in the passing chill;
I have become ill.

Wakeful hours, wakeful hours,
I hear the horse howl in the distance,
Do not come with shining things,
For, I adore you bare without jewels...

You come with a fog,
A dream without mercy,
And, your presence performs
With the richest colors...

Bring me the seasoned grape of your being,
And your surplus heart of wine,
And I will know you with my pale lips...
I will know you with my pale lips.

'Oh my love, ' you seem a divinity,
With you in my world everything is abstract,
With your cold, smooth silver lining;
I do not want to compromise
With anything else other than
Your palette of surprise;
I endeavor in these things...
Wine and art.

Drunken, and 'oh so bittersweet'
I understand I am ill,
Overly adored, and, sickened to the rot;
Did you not choose this fruit for yourself,
And, your surplus heart of wine?

Do not cry tonight,
For in these wakeful hours, wakeful hours,
I will know you with my pale lips...
I will know you with my pale lips.