Words with Charlie

It took one shot to take you away from me.

Harlequinade: taken through a finer straw

and sheathed within your self scabbard.

Sabre-rattling: lost for twenty years. Your

scrivener exchanged for a less discerning quill:

nib-illed, free willed and left to write your wrongs

in lieu of any service of my own. What japes?

Woken, sober, twenty years younger: man child,

how am I supposed to remember what I said

to you back then, that got you running wild?