O aching heart! thou art 

drunkenness pulsing 

in a sober world. 

so sober, 

we’ll be 

drunk 

by any means. 

how thirsty, poor heart! 

thou hast not forgotten 

ambrosia. and yet 

this earthen cup 

will not 

tolerate 

emptiness. 

“serve me more, O maid, 

more wine! another cup 

and yet one more!” 

the heart cries, 

desperate. 

but this 

will never do.