Idle talk
and groping glances
are thrown and strewn
at the idle dances.

Your sickeningly sweet smile
given refuge in the eye of the storm;
abetted by the valour of your current tipple.

Hand on hand,
eye on eye
then quickly turn to pass on by.

The constant ebb and flow of your
in-out,
here-gone,
love-doubt,
ignore-fawn,
contradictory chaos is enough to drive the
dead to drink.

I drown the dead within me
with the dregs of the Host.
Living tonight to the
detriment of tomorrow.