And a thinking man's man,
Thinking in abstracts;
Reality wearies.
Joining,
In concept,
Brings a rush of blood to their tiny heads.
Joining,
In practice,
Takes time and energy, small in supply these days.
Both know they will die wishing for more,
Unfilled.
Yet,
They practice in private,
Putting off difficult action,
Denying strong wine for the cheaper pop.
Cork scents don't lie.
Honesty would be working too hard;
It's easier to ignore an already made bed,
Especially one that smells like spent happiness.
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