Staring at it,
At the back of my fridge.
The sole bottle of liquor in the house,
Looking at it with parched lips,
Though the water was abundant, that was not why
My throat felt like the Sahara
And the bottle an oasis
An oasis whose water was akin to heroin.
Such a dangerous shimmering and colorful surface it had.
The water of the oasis,
A deep almost crimson red
Like wine.
The wine was heavenly and intoxicating,
Till all that could be ascertained was blissful euphoria,
Awareness of the desert around the oasis fading until it was but a distant dream.
A forgotten memory of a time immemorial.
