Hedonism

We were born in a time where we cannot Ever afford to break the rules Taught unto us by different schools... Different trains of thought... Being the starving artist I am, as the fruit will rot, I continue to observe and paint what I see: The fruits of the old love you had for me, The basket of grapes we had once bought. Rhyme and reason no longer in how I love The one whom I daydream about. The one whom I want to shout In tears of joy for the one I have always dreamt of. Grapes become raisins as I steep every vine, Stepdancing upon them with moves of my own, I fill the barrel with a lovely liquid, reddest in tone. A painting and wine for my love so divine.