y=e

Three o’clock is a precious thing
a gift all to myself
since I allow no-one, or very few
the honor of accompanying me here.
This hour is a deep galactic void
rift in space-time itself
wherein only Bacchus commands me
and that, only as I please—
it is a fancy, a merriment, 

a salacious, solitaire banality
crafted carefully of selfish indulgence 
and bittersweet abandonment
to a treasured solitude.

November 2020