Champagne
O so languid the flesh ...
the bottle of champagne and its bittersweet curse,
sapping all strength but desire to touch,
soft skin of a lover, then fade into sleep.
Life is but pleasure.
Life is but pleasure ...
Life is but pleasure -
Philosopher cease! Trouble me not o'er worries that belong to tomorrow.
Let me lapse into oblivion while I can.
Bubbles in rose-colored liquid doth rise,
then burst into nothingness;
thus I seek the void.
Burden me not with morals, no quarrels, no vice!
Let me drift like a specter and float on thin ice.
Let me perish to problems and roll loaded dice.
Let me think of naught else - for naught else will suffice.
8 February 2020
Copyright © J. I. Thomas F. | Year Posted 2020
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