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Dinner Divine.

Today I noticed

there’s a specific rhythm

in how I speak.

A pattern emerging,

A beat,

never missed;

like a vinyl recording

refusing to skip.

In sync with my heart,

giving me bliss,

and pulling at ears

that cannot resist;

To listen, examine,

speeches spouted

for years.

And though, I know…

My meaning is empty.

This rhythm persists,

exalted by reveries

of friendships sweet kiss.

To connect ,not confuse,

those willing to listen.

To adore, not abuse,

those willing to share.

Words like wizened vitus fruit;

Crops collected, fermented truth.

Cork removed with hand on glass.

to savor the flavors and drink at last.

Fear, frets and worries smoothly suspend

as I raise my cup

to drink

cherished wine with vintage friend.

To sit at a table

At camaraderie’s peak

The symphonies playing

composed as we speak.

As one,

we drink, and think

and talk and tell

and feast on life

cooked medium-well.

I'm quite happy with this poem, however, I am posting it because I'm not sure if my lack of imagery (my wording is more literal) at the beginning takes away from the last 4 stanzas...would this work better as two seperate poems? Let me know..Thanks!