Residuum

The ice closed in, the endless sting of cold
encased my being deep within its fold.
Too long has ebullition ceased to roil—
Within my heart, residuum of toil.

I am as blank as slate, as hard as truth,
I am so old yet still I am a youth.
Reminded daily by each bitter twinge,
Reminded nightly by each hopeless binge.

And there 'tis bold, seductive cellerette,
a bumper topped and frothy, cold and wet!
Apologies are few whilst I'm about,
yet deep within my soul I feel the knout.

But once seduced by negus or arrack—
But once I'm felled and flattened on my back—
I taste such colors, hues and tints so keen,
I feel I float above on palanquin.

The cachinnation of the night erupts.
The sordid breath of lust my heart corrupts.
A tuckered lady near is black and gold—
whatever can be sought, I want to hold.

At end, I hold a porringer of naught.
The dawn refulgent seems a twisted plot.
I lay me down and gently close my eyes—
soon slumber starts its work to cicatrize.