Poems from a Friend - This Desperate Threshhold
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This Desperate Threshhold
At this desperate threshold,
look how white my knuckles –
I can’t face wine,
not like I used to.
Not anymore.
Oh,
my most admired romancer
of the most strange and terrible nights,
where will I turn
if not to your sopping invitation?
You have pulled me too far apart,
at my own request –
I could not ask you
to pull me back together.
I have sought out your freeing waters,
often as I could,
for more than a century,
but I have grown weary
of raising your implements to my lips.
Understand,
I have loved you more
than I have loved my women.
At this desperate threshold,
my friend,
look how white my knuckles,
but look how clear my eyes.