The bouquet recalls that spring of our decade,
The vintage a velvet recognition to my palate.
Age enriches her complexity:
Before, I tasted the virgin harvest hastily,
And her varieties in perfect combination could accommodate that impatience,
Yet now, matured only shortly, she surpasses all the expectations of her year.
A wine critic’s prediction: she is one that will,
cellared within the sirr of my house, yield excellence upon perfection.

My love, I am impatient again and tire of this trifling trope and so let me speak poetry plain:
Know that you hold imaan across the right boundary of your script.
And so today, let imaan be adornment around your neck:
a faithful neck, for the sword has passed over, and is held by your left.
A neck I would kiss immediately now, turning the lights off to our bemused readers.


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