Wine
Updated: Jan 28, 2020

From the first pour
to the last sober breath of next day,
I clear my way
to write a line
yet to be revealed
The first two share a cigarette,
after the third glass
the wine starts to whisper.
I cry for yesterday
I drink now for tomorrow.
In the silent hours,
I wine and dine my book
sharing my sorrows.
Often so
but not always past the date.
Hazy and run down by light,
I welcome the torture with open arms.
For it is the new day,
and sleep deprivation
cigarettes
and an empty stomach
works wonders.