“Spilt Wine”

by Topher Bank

Deep crimson pools in her lap over time As passing seconds fail to stop: She never stops crying over her spilt wine. Lustful sorrow spills her heart’s sublime From a bosom somewhat like a teardrop; Deep crimson pools in her lap over time. Cherry pains lay in her hard on a dime; Nostalgic rings tell of this lover’s flop: She never stops crying over her spilt wine. Long since her lap abandoned, she can’t help but pine Though she knows he’s no more than a fop. Deep crimson pools in her lap over time. Passing the years, she sops in lime Her sullied dress she cannot drop: She never stops crying over her spilt wine. She hangs on by, seeking solace on the line Bare in the wind, but cannot dry up Deep crimson pools in her lap over time: She never stops crying over her spilt wine.

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