Gratitude
Takes its time
To soak into the skin.

We picked the grapes
Under the hot sun
Crushing them slowly
And letting the sediment settle.
The juices refined by patience
Over many years
Inside a bottle,
Inside a dark cave.

At last the wine within
Lost any bitter remnants
Of acid rain.
Finally it tasted sweet.
But not of sugar.
Far deeper than
A casual “thanks”.

Instead

“I Thank You”.
A dance in which both
A Me
And A You
Warm our souls and become young again,
Sifting through flavourful memories
As the flames
Of the evening fire rise
And disappear.
And as the sun sets
Over this vineyard of dreams.