(--are beyond reach, thrill & pleasure
mirage on the receding horizon
of intractably linear, sequential
timestreams, delusion skin-deep as yours...)
But yesterday's white wines, fresh or stale
trip on the tongue-- mingle & blend
& play, plash & pleach on the palate--
gurgle down my gullet, waft in repand afterglow,
retracing reflux horrors grown quaint & mild--
softer 'round the spicy repast, rendering the burning stew
dilute with swallowed summer swelter
but crisp again, if drowse in each renewal's sip
a-washes empty mouthfuls...
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