The Quebec allure has dulled some,
as if rampant debauchery
within a perennial bacchanal
has soured to vinegar.
These feuds diminish the potency of expectations,
much the same way adolescence exists within extremes:
the aftermaths operating in anti-climax,
soiled linens of guilty souls
in the parched-mind morning of repentance.
Perhaps the spirit recoils against stasis,
much the same way bodies decompose from birth:
inexorably, yet inevitably.
Oh, these tired passions...
