Wine

So its a wintry night. A thin film of snow veils the earth's surface and bare trees tremble in the wind. The sky overhead is eternally black and in it I see an eternity. The half moon glows distantly, its cold pride the diadem of the night.

Winds howl through naked branches and wisps of hair obscure my vision as I walk along icy sidewalks lost in thoughts, frozen in body; wishing for a frozen heart. O would that I could not feel anymore! That stale remnants of a life lived and now dead to me would not resurface in ghoulish shapes...corpses dancing in the graveyard.

I want wine. Red, thick wine that oozes slowly down the rim of the glass. Luminant wine that catches the light and glows as though alive with the energetic passion that life is supposed to be made of - wine that gives the death of the senses and the liberation of that little naughty, nay, evil being that snickers within us all.
I want wine that stays thickly on my lips; that stay there to attract the lusty forms of my desires; those who walk, nay, strut around their tail of feathers never moulted.

I must feel its heat burn through my throat and radiate through my being. I must feel the smooth coolness of hte glass in my hands...I must drain it to the last that naught but a red sheen remains behind.

Then must I love the intoxication. The mad fury let loose in the dark nights 'neath the prissy moon who watches detached. I must shed the clothing of this life and dance like one possessed through the graveyards of memory. Bones will rattle to make my music; jackals of hypocrites will be my audience and I will let loose all fertility in my mind and spin round and round till the world itself spins round me.

I want wine.

I want the wine that gives the escape from this world!
Could that wine be love?