The Callous (I)

by Ewong
for the callous one

And thus begins another
of my drunken imaginings:
a glass of merlot in one hand,
a menthol cigarette in the other,
and in between is my mouth full
of French curses, and if only I
could kiss you tonight--following
those Parisian guidelines--then I
would know why they invented

wine--yes, to act crazed, be stupid,
to say the wrong things, and harass
someone, to sing and poke, to scream
and puke, then succumb to slumber
whilst muttering gibberish of somber
tales, yet still with the finest grace, for
we can claim that this divine inebriety
is simply the climax of an epic story

that started in a scenic vineyard.
But it is not wine glass that we hold
but a homey coffee mug, and you know
better to quickly end this bourgeois
pretension: so you bring out them
Brobdingnagian bottles of ice-cold
beer--our dependable, great old
red equine friend from paradise
lost and paradise found, yes, yes, I

have been so lost, and it's you I
have found, and I must be tipsy now,
o dear stranger, where 'you been all
my life, hurray, let's drink to uncanny
coincidences, o darling you could be
my wife, so what are we waiting for,
let's come, come, come together, come
away with me, and tomorrow is another

day, tomorrow I may not remember
your name, but now is what matters,
the guitar's strings are long, but our lives'
short, yet the night is young, and so are we,
yes, we are here, and here is what matters,
yes, even for just this one drunken night:
have I told you lately that you're beautiful--
(you, you, so beautiful under this faint light)--
that you are all mine, and I am all yours tonight,

though just here, in another of my wild imaginings.

_________________________________________
Art credit: "Vineyard Way" by Roberto Lombardi

This is the first poem I've written in two freaking long years!
So that only means I've been drinking frequently again lately. ;-)