Drinking the Stars

Petite bubbles rise
in the wine beneath
his nose, before
his eyes, eyes
not used to such
a thing, brain
not trained to
understand
liquid alchemy.

A fresh elixir
enters his mouth
in the cool cellar
of the monastery
without bidding
or prayer, layers
of lush lemon,
carnal almond,
weightless and dense
at once, enough
finish to finish
even a monk
off.