Forty five glasses of wine
Fortifies the nights of lone,
Fighting dreams of windy lanes,
Blocking howls of snow wolves.
There was a dance,
In this drunken nightmare;
Where we were passed around,
And our feet never touched the ground.
We woke, heady, to sunrise skies,
Falling back against the pillows;
Pulling the stained sheets tighter,
Against the heavy head pounding harder.
Copyright © 2016 thearcticstar