Wine, Women, Song

Oh those days of you, those days when we achieved a Platonic state much greater than any vulgar one. I held your hand once. You carressed my troubled skin once. A smile across a crowded place, whispers carried on a silent wind....and there was the wine, we let it flow with no thought of the next day or what would happen next, like we could drink and drink and be drunk and be drunk....and the song, what prohibited music we played, our sacred notes sung among the profane, you were my muse and my siren all wrapped in one...it was all real...and now it is a dream, but dreams are real, aren't they?