With Every Sip

We drown in wine, a sour brine disguising our torture by time. I assign a sweet fragrance to my illusionary spell.
Bland as I narrow down my brown frown, to become a clown in the face of the truth I attempt to tell.

All philosophies become a dainty temptation, tantalizing my lust to know, and escape my grey socialization, my nation, my unknown situation, the ablation of conscious thought overwhelms my surrounders, resounding in a hollow noise.

We drown in wine, sublime. Untamed, yet in line with the supplied paradigm. In a regal moment, we feel African, and sit with the angels trapped between black and white, the blight that sired the days that rule our nights.