In The Fog Of Liquor

In the fog of liquor
Desire grows
And the heart beats quicker.
‘Tis bliss
To kiss
But the wise one knows
That those
Soft lips
At which he sips
Are as fleeting as the rose
Which in summer grows.

So we let go
In lust
While the dust
Under the bed
Is dead
Skin, and the summer rose
Grows brown
And each petal
Does settle
On the ground
And becomes as one
With flowers long since gone.