Castoff regrets, transitory sorrows… sugar-dipped troubles
Spread thinly across sallow lips of doubt,
Kissed… tempted by prodding, moist tongues of worry,
Yet yielding only to the stout staff of despair…
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Are you incinerating that I have not experienced the pleasures of wine-tasting or dallied around some of the finer vintages? Hmmmmm...? Well, I'll have you know, nothing could be further from the truth! I've guzzled MANY litters (didn't think I knew the Metric system, did you?) of the vintner's finest products, even some of them lip-smacking green ones that have a cork! I resist that you take that cruel reference to the Tootsie pops back... I resemble the remark!
Hey Bob,;)
I did just like Karen - I read it, then re-read it (ok, I confess I didn't understand it the first time). The second time it was like, "Oh..Ok." This is one of those short poems that speak volumes. Good work.