Wine-Aged Love

Tomorrow calls so softly dear,
At open-windowed nights.
Fine hinges squeak eventually—
You and I know that.

I dream in black and white sometimes,
And sometimes not at all.
What do you suppose that means?
I used to dream in extraordinary colors.

Are you satisfied, my love,
With monochromatic days?
I think I must be, because even in my black and white dreams,
Everything remains.

What, then, will tell me if I dream,
If everything remains the same?
I fear tomorrow’s dew-dripped voice
Sliding along the windowpane.

Mark the distance in fathoms
That you traverse ‘cross the young day
All sunlight and shadow
And return wiser, my love.

                                                -Kaitlyn Medina                       [7/26/08]

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