PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Yes, Love does strike at improper hours

And leaves your mind mystified in that hazy daze

You got from that whiskey sour

You drank last night.

How it glazed your eyes for what seemed like days

And magnified your senses

To surreal realms

That leave oxygen tanks breathless.

A world of bias

Clouds of liquored judgment

No longer tangled

With senseless vines to wrangle with

From every angle.



Just some wine.

The red kind

That we pour through funnels

Between our lips so blind.

And feel the glowing liquid

Tunnel

Down.

Coating our throat and innards all around

And leaving us thinner

Once the intoxication is gone.



So soon it becomes

That drug...

That addiction we feared all along

Has now dug -

Burrowed a pit that can only be satiated

With the blood

Of another.

And so we drink a following glass

At room temperature

Just to save our ass

From realities we wish would just pass.



And as the nights amass

And bottles pile up in some table stash

We've run out of cash

To buy the next quenching glass.

And so we'll gladly trade

Like junkies

Whatever possessions that lay -

That 70s chair so funky

Or that painting of the San Francisco Bay

Hung over your TV wall

Just for a bottle or cup.

But you know what they say.

To hell with reason, baby.

Bottom's up.