Syrah, the rewrite~ as I noted (here and elsewhere), the poem needed more. So a couple lines have inserted themselves in the middle, providing a bridge between what were essentially two different lines of thought -- the jump was just a little too abrupt in the first version. It remains much the same, otherwise.
There is a bottle of Syrah,
breathing out its deep-red dreams
in the dark of the spare bedroom.
We should use it or it will spoil;
the wine, that is, though you are welcome
to the room as well. You know
that, right? Just chase the cats off the bed.
It would be good to have you here
a while, to share the evening, the wine.
I’ve never asked for more than this;
I have not sought you as a lover
nor seen you as a lover. Oh, maybe
in my own secret deep-red dreams
I have breathed you out, allowing
the bouquet to linger, fragile
as tomorrow morning's goodbyes.
Stephen Brooke ©2005