We Two Boys Together Clinging
By Walt Whitman

We two boys together clinging,

One the other never leaving,

Up and down the roads going, North South excursions making,

Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fingers clutching,

Arm’d and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping, loving.

No law less than ourselves owning, sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,

Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,

Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,

Fulfilling our foray.

—  We Two Boys Together Clinging
By Walt Whitman
Champagne is a luxury for the unluxurious moment, the moment of monetary, or, worse, emotional poverty. When despair has tightened your throat so you can’t swallow anything, and you have to speak by hand signals. When no human comfort can reach you, and you must rely, helpless, on the benefience of the generous sound of pouring wine. When the kindest hand would be too heavy. The voice of sympathy, abrasive as a badly stroked cello. When the heartache you’ve always read about in the distance turns out to be your own. When love has been mistaken, gone, died. Champagne is for laughing-in-spite-of-your-tears, a shout of defiance, an act of faith, a promise of renewal. Champagne is best when your world is falling apart.
— 

Jeanine Larmouth

The Passionate Palate

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