Harlem Wine Poem by Countee Cullen
Harlem Wine
This is not water running here,
These thick rebellious streams
That hurtle flesh and bone past fear
Down alleyways of dreams
This is a wine that must flow on
Not caring how or where
So it has ways to flow upon
Where song is in the air.
So it can woo an artful flute
With loose elastic lips
Its measurements of joy compute
With blithe, ecstatic hips.
Wine will always flow, bringing temporary joy at least. A joy I now reject.
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5/3/2024 2:01:47 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Barack im cheating on you with your countee