Do I drink like my father wanted to
without knowing if I am starting or finishing a job
without knowing if in the end it all is starting
with a verve and a wander down the aisle?
I pay my way without causing an element
of grief – no more can I outburst the plexus
and start the reel from reeling
against the stormy hearted mirth of knowing
you my love, my bottle of sanctity and growth
my form of nature that goes unrescinded
I am of good nature but at best
of small talent compared to your
aphrodisiacal glance in the mirror
of pipe smoke and release.