I used to breathe in the cold air,
Slurping on the edge of despair,
Drinking in the enchanted dotted sky,
Despondent laughter that my dry eyes belie.
To fly into the skies and drink the nectar,
Having tea and cakes with this or that spectre,
Displaced and stateless: I am liquid, solid, and gas,
Strong as brass, but more delicate than glass.
When light shines through me, I am violet tears,
As rain passes me by, I am indigo puddles,
I am skirted by wind; I turn blue with love,
Heat flashes around me; I remain jaded,
Deep yellow breaths of hurricane gusts,
I am orange with envy as I drink sweet wine,
I am Red as I am read.
Upon a platter the small mouse nibbles,
On a parchment, these are but cheap scribbles,
Bacchus provides the feast and paper,
Ending thoughts as the flow of wine tapers.