Vintage

Like a bottle of wine, days mature

Bit by bit, in coloured glass,

We claim liberation in astringency

Though the taste is never sweet;

Staying afloat, savouring the ecstasy

We look back, in shiny tumblers

What remains, are slowed down memories

And even slower a pensive heart-beat

 

But at the end, we are all the same

A bottle of emptiness, tinted from outside

Inside, every moment, a bit less

Just lingering – a fragrance of vintage old

From some place far away

Deep within, just a bottle of emptiness…