After a night of indulgence, your snifter
filled to the hips w/sweet brown clear,
leave a taste @ the foot, rest
your head & dream of other rich nights.
In the morning, if your head is steady, stomach
ready for the day’s first meal, check
that glass again. The clear brown
is now cloud, resin
of the barrel. W/care, raise the glass
to your nose, inhale the memory. But never—no
never—taste. That time, dear one,
is all but ash.
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