Again,
I've had too much wine.
Mulled, cold this time,
and my thoughts are so forbidden.

I want to feel those characters,
sink into my flesh,
before I grow too old,
one day too old,
one idea could change everything.

Ink on ink,
ink on skin,
skin on blood

until ink,
instead of blood
but just as warm,
will run.

And I,
will let those seeds you planted bloom,
regardless.

Like summer that burned down
broken ashes of who I never was
and brought me back to life.

So are you willing…?
Are you drinking…?

From this goblet of life
that sets us on fire.

So please,
put my flames out,
with water not wine,
before I'm nothing but ashes.