Have more wine, my dearest, yes
I'll pour you jewels from fairy land
I could not offer any less.

Your blooming eyes, when in distress
unmoor me, turn my bones to sand.
Have more wine, my dearest, yes,

drown your traitor thoughts, and bless
your berry mouth with contraband
I could not offer any less

than this beating heart stamped into mess,
pulped within me where I stand—
have more wine, my dearest, yes—

I'll filter, bottle, age and press
the best of me into your hand
I could not offer any less—

so racked and riddled to impress,
I'm yours, entire, to command.
Have more wine, my dearest, yes

I could not offer any less.