Poetry: Old Wine

extracted from the inebrious vines
from the vineyard of our relentless love,
my beloved, you are as sweet as old wine
that has been seasoned over years
and years in the carafe of my heart
serving and sharing the divine sentiment
with the exuberant joy of it.
I love you, my dear,
you love me, I can see that too,
not because we taste as sweet wine
to one another but because
the grapes that we'd tasted
and relished over the long time together
evolved into the ecstatic drink of love
without turning stale.
I love you, my dear, because you are
same as the old grapes and their nectar
and the tumbler of my love-heart
continues to be the same
towards you;
towards one another.
Aging matters not in love,
nothing seems to change in love
if the initial sweetness and purity of the grapes' juice
ferments and ages simultaneously
with the love-bottle of the heart
on the medium heat of faithful devotion and love
and finally transforms into the inebriation of
old wine that will never never stale out!