The Forgotten Tryst

2017.11.12 @ 21:38

When she walked into my room

I was partially sedated by

A half bottle of Glenfiddich

Three shots of Absinthe

And Shostakovich’s 7^th.

She was angry,

            I daresay,

            F*****g mad.

My astute rationalization was to

Feign inspiration,

            Allege that my muse had…

            Raped me?

Even I determined that to be dubious at best,

And it showed.

As she stormed from the room I begged my muse

            My spark,

            My genius,

            My sensibility,

For the lexicon,

The prose,

The poetry,

To make everything

Copacetic.

As she approached the threshold she turned round,

Looked deep into my vernacular

As I opened my mouth,

And eloquently,

Poured myself,

One,

More,

Drink.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

Very clever and funny. As the man said, it enhances the desire, but not the proficiency.