The moment my life succumbs

to logic

I will consider it an out-of-body
near-death, come-to-the-light


Sort of a reincarnation of myself
at least, as seen by others


I am a wine cellar unto myself
occasionally decanted as an
aged-to-perfection vintage

I can at times act the vinegar

I am at times sweet, pungent
with varietal undertones

sometimes I am quite dry
an acquired taste not for all

Sometimes people label me
and state what I should best
accompany, what to pair me

though my true friends partake
simply because I am what they like

Not my tempo

I have never danced with the devil.
We have, however, chatted amiably
around the punchbowl a time or two