In just nine words, this tiny poem catches a quiet, shared moment: people drinking red wine as evening settles in. The speaker says "we" and "our," so this isn't a lonely scene. It sounds like friends or lovers, sitting together as the light fades.
The central trick is the way wine and night blur into one. The title, "Red at night," points to the wine's color, but the poem turns it into something almost physical. Our tongues are stained with it, and the wine seems to carry the dark inside us, into the bloodstream. "Bringing night home" is a lovely phrase, because home is usually where we go to escape the dark. Here the night isn't outside anymore; we've swallowed it.
The mood is warm, sensual, and a little mysterious. There's contentment, but also a hint of something deeper, as if the evening has become part of the body itself. The short lines leave plenty of space around the words, so the feeling lingers like an aftertaste.