Fourth Glass of Wine

I am drunk
And the room is spinning
And I like it.

Dance in a whirling circle
Intoxicating

As Hemingway poured out his drink
Onto the page
In sorrow
So too do I
Vomit my joy
In meaningless rhyme

When I wake
Will I remember this moment?

Will my head throb
With the ache of last night's rapture?

Or will I reach out my arms and smile
At the sun,
Already at his zenith

The birds winging toward
An unknown sea

And say,
Last night,
I was like you.