Drunk poetry

Faint crackling sounds of her spirit speaks aloud in versus as ancient as this original sin
The Cabrini tickles the back of our throats still coated in dry Merlot with a hint of oak turning tasteless
With less muscles used to frown your resolve than to convince you of the danger you're in
A romantic thief turned rabid beast, a once future queen molded into this pale empress
Let the pain lead you astray safe from harms way, slow and steady as to not burn away such fragile joints
A misplaced sense of passion clouded by misunderstanding completely missing the point