In Tides of White Wine

I saw photos--young and beautiful,
Bikini-clad in '71;
Does she remember that girl?
The bitter old hag you've become?

White-clad, Princess Diana hair,
Still beautiful the day you wed;
Your hungry mouth craving the champagne flute,
Soft lips still ruby-red.

Your first taste of bubbly, but never your last,
Your memories crushed by the weight of the bottle,
Your evenings erased, your body enlarged,
Blue eyes liquour-dull, your wrinkled face mottled.

The End

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