OLD WINE

I remember knowing

Warmth & desire,

Glowing embers

Of long distant fire,

To share a pillow,

Limbs entwined,

A new flavour

For an ancient wine,

As passion stirs

From banishment,

Wearing

Its ill-fitting coat

Of chastity,

Its wild obsession,

Shunned,

Its myopic vision,

Unwelcome,

Its choicest words

Best left unsaid,

Still unspoken

Inside the head,

Hoisted,

In their own

Eternal wondering,

Perhaps discretion

Is the better friend,

Without beginning,

Or pointless end.

ARROWS

I have but one arrow left,
Unspent,
In its quiver,
The very same
That bristled with passions,
Some which flew at phantoms,
Falling wide and wild
To places unknown,
Others piercing their chosen mark,
But all of these,
I'm now outgrown,
Save this, the last,
Amuses me -
Though once buried
In that crowded place,
Biding for its time,
I can see
That all along,
Its target was already found,
And it shall stay
Upon my back
To never meet the bow,
For this new passion,
Happiness,
Is all I need to know.