On Question Of Love

Love; The apparition of youthful days,
That haunts weary old eyes and lonely hearts,
Echoes in symphonies trapped in the empty vodka bottle,
And summer dreams of a dying body waiting to dislodge.

I’ve lived enough to love; I’ve drunk enough to forgive.
But I am not as youthful as early morning hours,
Nor as old to celebrate my defeated love!