I love this sweet flute of champagne,
my truth serum during celebrations
Oh what magic does it contain —
It frees my mind
into deeper catacombs of ecstasy,
whether behind the keyboard of creation,
or into journals capturing my words
or bedrooms which releases me,
as my eyes follow those bubbles,
rushing like desperate lovers to its top.
Oh those French — that “je ne sais quoi”
this ritualistic undressing of foils
that embrace bottle’s opening,
and slow twist of its wire cage
like a brassiere holding my breasts in place.
And then, its pop,
a sudden pressure release
into delicious effervescence and euphoria.
Followed by a foamy uncontained overflow.
Oh my muse, oh my love
please pour me another glass,
but just one more thing you should know,
once empty, you too will be dunked head first
into that ice bucket beside this table for two,
but only when your job is done,
as I move to my next bottle
this sweet blissful champagne
that reveals secrets
hidden within my serum of truth.