Wine clings to the side
As I slowly twirl the glass
Watching purple strobes
Blink in the Merlot
Feeling my shoulders drop
Into a burgundy-stained stomach
Cool liquid transmuted
Into warm inspiration
Soaking into the web of nerves
Pulled up the spine to my skull
Breaking the blood brain barrier
Soft fleece on a cold night
Each sip is a prayer to Bacchus
Grant me the confidence to chat
With these dancers so beautiful
And the wisdom not to fall in love
This year marks the tenth anniversary of my first poetry collection, Wednesday Night Regular. To celebrate I’m posting my favorite poems from the book on Wednesday nights, of course.

Extremely insightful and revealing Bartholomew. Lovely in its essence and vulnerability. 💜
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Thank you, Gypsie. This one holds up pretty well.
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You are most welcome! 😊
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You’re a devotee of Dionysus
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A god worthy of worship.
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Haha. I hope Bacchus is kinder to you than he is to me. He’s a slippery guy.
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You’ve got to know when to take a break from praying. For me that’s after two or three glasses.
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Ahhh, that’s my problem.
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Brilliant ending. I love the twist on the serenity prayer. So resonant.
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Thank you, Stacey. I am rather proud of that last stanza.
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I love dancing and my love for dancing makes me send that love vibe to everyone I meet…if it weren’t for you where would we be…? And if it weren’t for your honest words, how would I know the truth underneath this prayer? Maybe love is there?
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Stripclubs are wonderful illusions. The love is there but it stays in there.
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Does it?…I’ve had some very loving situations outside as well
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I can so relate. Thank you for this one; I think I might post it on my fridge as a reminder to not ‘fall in love’ with the wine dancers.
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To have a poem on a fridge is the greatest honor. Thank you so much, LuAnne!
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Beautifully composed
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Glad you approve
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