One taste of the sweet nectar of passion and like an alcoholic the need to drink will once again overwhelm all reality.
To taste the sweetness of life upon the tongue, swishing gently around the mouth like fine wine.
The aroma and fullness like a kiss placed fresh upon a virgin's lips.
The burning deep within the body as it hits the core like a furnace stoked high in winter,
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Ah! Optimism. A celebration of an act of love. This is something very few people would be capable of doing. There is a certain ambiguity in it, in that one wonders what is measnt by the last line; is alcohol (or any other substance for that matter) a substitue or a way of the narrator cutting themselves off from that which they are missing? Is it a metaphor or just a simple need? Love Denis Joe