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.
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