The room is spinning and the wine is sweet
Little bubbles dance-dancing to my blast-heart-beat
with your words on the wall
and Perignon on my lips
Fermented gold apocalypse -
My man of the hour
is always 3am
:and the music throbs a pounding pulse of what-why-when:
I might have had a point
but I forget
I bet
this won't make sense but nevertheless
with intoxicated rhythms
and syllabic distress
I immerse in borrowed glories and my drunkenness
I really think that I should think
a little bit less
of you
This world should have come with a warning.
I shout! I scream!
I die! I dream!
I want! I think!
I'll have! Another drink!
The sun's coming up on my mourning.
Copyright 2003 Natalie Mills Lyndon
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/3441/26531 on Monday July 07th, 2008 12:37 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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