It’s about starting over . com

I want to drink the finest Champaign
(pink and delicate with a bubble-strand threading up the center)
from an old jam jar or a great big, completely inappropriate glass.

I want to suck in great swills of the stuff as if it were nothing more than water,
nothing less than life
and as trivial as air itself.

And I want to surf great waves of ecstasy without a board,
my body surging forward atop a great, foaming crest of joy,
hands of magical star-stuff kneading my belly all the way.

And when it’s over,
my knees weak and toes trying to grip wet sand,
my body experiencing gravity as a strange thing,
the words surge from my mouth,
uncontrollably,
like when you were born–

AGAIN! MORE!

Arms flailing, I turn and run from the beach to brave the tidals once again.

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