My dreams these days are of couplets, crawling
Through my sleeps‘ fabric, winding and scrawling

Lapidary verse of women and love
My conscious, a preternatural shove

Into wanderings through days gone past
Laughter over warm drink, shadows creep fast

Watery consummation, sonorous night
Amorous days gone to ruin, and blight

All come back to me with rushing torrent
Stealing away mornings’ gloss to foment

And remind that poetry, much like life
Is merely regret, and sorrow’s, sour wife