Sent me to the cabinet for some overpriced wine,

Bottles upon bottles, for if we can't sleep we might as well celebrate.

But it was martinis in the bathtub, your throat burning, you thought it would drown the fire...

Your legs would cramp for hours after, and there's nothing I can do to help,

It's typical and expected.

What can I dare to now term creative expression, with your flower contortions now causing you such pain?

Yet I've been called an artist, but it was Sugar who was dancing with such grace tonight,

Either by design or intoxication.