No amount of whisky, No amount of wine.

I believed that you were aching.
Shaking hands, and nostalgic eyes
on that beautiful face.
How could you not be suffering?
And all that wine you drank,
the scent of grapes heavy on your skin
a perfume of false pretense,
enigmatic sin.

I wondered what's so attractive
in the fallen.
-
Amber Lamb-Noel