no more drinking love poems

that's it
no more,
- I'm swearing off.
I can see where I got carried away
with this particular trick. Gone
too far, but not too far gone to quit. To call
"time, gentleman!" - and ladies too, of course.
But that's it. That's all. That's that - I'm flagged.
Cut off! No more drinking love poems.

No more lines making wine
of your smiles, no more
controlling metaphors
turning your bubbling laugh to streams
of sparkling sunlit champagne, no more
amber waves of your hair, compared
to Anderson Valley's Boont Amber Ale - no more.
No more the clear deep hit of your spirit and wit,
knocked back in one stiff stinging shot! - no more.
No more drinking love poems.

Well,

perhaps I could compare you to tea?
Tea, with honey

- and a spot of cream, ah
the sweet perfumed steam
that rises from your hot, silky, glistening surface

yea, that'll work!

Tea it is, then.

Delicious.