Sunday, May 7, 2017

Barfly Bliss

Photo by bykst from Pixabay

Glittering silver shorts
hugging tight
making her mojo sway
with a feisty intent.

Eyes waltzing,
throats drowning,
booze magnifying cabooses.

Standing in the middle
of a bunch of nothings
wanting, but not caring, and still
hoping for someone or perhaps
just wanting to appeal.

My, what a pair
of those two feet high
bulky platforms.

And that hair,
wondering if it's the same
down there.

And those hips,
surrounding that wonderful bliss.

Wow, what a grip I bet!
What a stance!
Her face a dormant glance,
no chance for a trance.

How about a dance?
I beg.

She's not grasping my thought
of a desperate measure;
yet, standing there like a full glass
of Jim Beam or maybe
a bottle of Kessler—deliciously repugnant.

Nevertheless—transparent but not fragile;
wasted but not senseless;
quiet but just an articulate appearance
(clear and precise to the bone),
yet glowing like glitter,
shinning everywhere in everyone.

She's clean, congruous, and evidently
emphasized by the booze.

Her glittering silver lights in my eyes.
Lighting my shocking pride,
feelings of disguise—she tries.

Skin sweating,
hands drowning,
booze amplifying,
stares glowing,
black-out growing…

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