Loneliness, you, the great misunderstood privilege,
You, oh terrible and gut-wrenching luxury,
To face that expansive, internal abyss,
And to know myself, wholly,
In deepest despair and boldest bliss.

Slow motion memory, you intricate skill,
Towering and dangerous like waves of wine's sea,
Decanting your motion and learning to savour,
Sweet moments of wonder, drunken and divine,
Show me myself in my buried behaviour.