A poem with not title....

Wine staining her lips
and fire-burning fingertips...
You can see it in her eyes,
though the love in her kiss
holds no lies...
"Come, my philosopher,
and hold me close."
Her words make you forget
where you are...
You drink in the moment,
the chance,
to draw her in to dance.
Her breath intoxicates you
and her sighs captivate you
as she professes her love.
The midnight skies
twinkle with winking eyes above,
banishing doubt and judgement.
A stolen kiss to seal the truth...
Another sigh escapes the gentle mouth...
Both hearts break as time doesn't stand still,
and you know it is time to leave,
against all of your will.
Take comfort as you drive away...
She'll wish you'd stay
and pray you home safe...
Then dream your return
and love, revisited.
And she'll say again,
"Come, my philosopher,
and hold me close."
Her words make you forget
where you are...
You drink in the moment,
the chance,
to draw her in to hold her,
kiss her,
and dance.