Liquid Passion
Contemplate as the penetrating flavor of a poisonous concoction blends into a civilized drink. A swishing of the glass forces a melding of tastes. This dark and delightful drink begs for consumption. I oblige, smiling my wicked smile. It is my pleasure to taste of your bittersweet seduction.
As my lips rest upon the glass’ edge, I feel the cold splash of grand equality rush into my mouth. My taste buds clamor at the invasion, but beg for more. The venom finds passage into my bloodstream, sedating the unruly tantrum of a long lost essence. It grants elusive advocacy to all who partake.
It is my step into reality, and mine alone. Its one sole purpose is to wash away time, placing a mask of supremacy onto the face of those who are allowed a taste. Tonight, the drink belongs to me. As I find clemency in a white wash of tainted bliss, a smile is born.
I feel the fight of the tormentous passion burning within. In an inner struggle there is power, which attempts to find sedation. Sleep I can not, for one weighs heavier than the other. Oh what a glorious event! It is as if Juliet’s poison of sleep met Isolde’s potion of love. They blend nicely, but battle for triumph over one another.
Painfully the surge of valor fades, and all that is left is remorse. As the lustful liquid runs its course and fades, reality snaps back into position, begging to be seen. With this I away to sleep, seeking out only memories of such events. Fair thee well, my venomous cocktail; til we meet again.
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