A small poem

poems written in last night’s hangover

often smell of beer and love

words, like cigarettes,

burning the paper to crisp

cancerous

satisfying

they often rhyme with awkward flirtations

in dark corners

while drinking rum

in plastic glasses

riddled with alcoholic metaphors.

I write about the girl

in a green cocktail dress

wearing electric blue heels

the one who sat next to me

shared our mutual love for stouts

then danced around half naked

up on the water tank

with no moon

to reveal our pristine obscenity

and my poems,

that I read to you

and fell asleep

only to wake up

without you

with a hangover

and with a small poem

titled “Dying Moon”.

it is often that we try to find meaning

in such a rendezvous

romantic, misleading

all things that make life beautiful

yet sometimes a poem

is just what it is

few words on the back of a receipt

for bread, eggs and Miller lite

that smell of her.

 

 

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