Buk, temporarily recovered from his binge

There is drunkenness, and then there is the culture of Wine.
Ok, I confess. I have often abused of alcohol to make my pen write more freely or to exorcise rotten thoughts: rum, whisky, preferably diluted with a drop of water. And then in the morning a cold beer would get me back on my feet, ready to make my life bearable: great 'piss companions' with whom my readings gained moments of historical incomprehensibility, depending on whether whoever listened was, or was not, likewise, a great drinker. I've brushed with a few splendid lady-drunks, where potted geraniums would fall off the shelf above the bed for the amount of alcoholic and sexual heat. 
But not wine. No. That I drink in my moments with HER, the woman of my life. With her there are raging wars and peaces regained: We notch them up with bottles of perfumed Whites. Culture with her, I respect well.  Tipsy? Maybe…but never drunk. In love…definitely.

Buk Tuscolano.