But what can I say
of that rose colored rim
which you sipped from most days,
its body a mirror
and its juices inflamed,
my, did the irresistible aroma
make your lips fall flat
into a long, enchanting coma,
letting them too effervesce
like fine evenings in Roma;
this is not the wine of drinking
but the wine we cannot see,
a type of cherry-branded spirit
with bubbles instead of shards
that ages a little differently,
and so your signature has a kick
whether crimson or rose
even sparkling I'll admit,
spilling a cheery, lucid love
our friendship will keep preserving
in the very years to come.
