Drink to forget,
and greedily gorge on that sweet, fiery nectar,
or drink steadily,
either way the nectar flows and finds its mark,
burns your throat, vocal chords,
and forms rivulets that coil down into a pit, where it consolidates,
transforms, rises and spreads into a warm feeling of novelty,
permeating every fibre of your being,
like small embers spreading into a flame,
which obfuscates all sense of Time, unsettles the steady,
gradually lulling you to the precipice of momentary oblivion,
where you leap into a chasm of
sweet, blissful ignorance,
from the mundane and daily worries.
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