sisi, hungover and remorseful

that's it. i'm swearing off booze and men.

Here’s a little poem I wrote once, after a night of indulgence:

For me no love,

For me no wine;

The one makes you ache,

The other makes you ill!

Love grows sour,

Love grows bitter;

The wine is doctored

for base gain.

But more false than wine

Often is love;

We pretend to be kissing

And feel like thieves!

For me no love,

For me no wine;

The one makes you ache,

The other makes you ill!

Historians like to call me a prude.  A chilly-hearted woman afraid of too much contact, too much mess.  The pleasures of the mouth, the heart, the appetite all have consequences, you see.  Better to be in control.  Best to be clean, clear, without encumbrance.

Happy New Year.

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