The Poem of a Drunkard in Love

Staring out the window,
At the changing seasons of the tree,
Why a drunk that is drunk,
Is just as drunk as he?

Touch his lips upon the glass
Before expressions that were bare,
But now excitement throws a blanket,
To the troubles that were there.

Feel the juices flowing,
To your throat then to the vein,
The drunkards best part
Is when it hits the brain.

The mornings show no mercy,
And the spinning makes you courtesy.
It is not until the clock strikes midday,
That troubles resurrect to say.

'Bubble and turn',
'Cackle and swirl',
a mixture of a tornado
waving to a flood.

The hurricane and the thundering rain,
And a mud slide inside
Acting like a stomach pain.
But its all ok its just a drunk in love.

So, to all the pretty girls in pink
You made him what he is you see,
This explains why a drunk that is drunk
Is just as drunk as he.