<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/platform.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar/6961444287817385772?origin\x3dhttp://flotsonish.blogspot.com', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener("load", function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <iframe src="http://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID=6961444287817385772&amp;blogName=flotson&amp;publishMode=PUBLISH_MODE_FTP&amp;navbarType=BLUE&amp;layoutType=CLASSIC&amp;homepageUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fflotson.us%2F&amp;searchRoot=http%3A%2F%2Fblogsearch.google.com%2F" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" height="30px" width="100%" id="navbar-iframe" title="Blogger Navigation and Search"></iframe>
CURRENT
ARCHIVES
- FLANERIE
- O'NAUTICA
- L'ABYME
ABOUT
image

sommelerie
Saturday, April 25, 2009
home | older »
| older »
| older »
| older »
| older »
| older »
| older »
| older »
| older »
| older »
To ensure an experience
of the highest quality, allow

me to suggest a better wine,
a superior description of oak

sketched quickly on the tongue
as ragged sails are sketched

on the label, of the tiny ship.
Permit me to notice

the temperatures of glass
in the mouth, in the hand.

And if a certain night, when lamps
arrived at the end of a bottle. . .

and if those stars should linger
in a certain park,

those kisses hover, interrogate
your mouth while you sleep, allow me

to call it thirst.