Inebriate

The intensity of the air tarries
upon my liable lips
and I urge my lungs to hesitate,
with a close-mouthed frenzy,
only to feel silence.

Heat deliquesces the way
I used to catch a gale,
on sweet wine lips
that parted into felicity,

now I am tugged by
heat's sufferance
and am without
nostalgia.

How I yearn for night's
fulsome illusion, of days where
my heart wasn't this dry
of memory- but flowing,
flooding like summer brewed
poetry.

Yet this draught seems to run
in hazy combat, making me
not want to linger on endlessly,
and miss tasting the skin
of words, and the brooks
in their diction.

For my heart is soon to thunder,
and no one can quite say
when the sky will be like
goblets that graze...
for every reminiscence
will be but a newly traveled
rainfall.

Written 6/29/12 and then edited on 7/1/12.