Not to be confused with
                             souvenirs, where good
memories are casked in
                         vintage conditions, when
bottled, go on to maintain a
                    warmth of the proportioned
pleasure from a glorious
                         past, to a deserved future.

Conscience is a nocturnal
                         variety, fungi, the corked
species of peevishness in
                         a glass, vinegar at a blind
tasting, the consequence
                        of ones deserved karma at
a reunion for insomniacs,
            poured by someone of like mind.