The boardwalk hides the bloodstains.
Coveting.
He wrings his hands, licks his lips.
Savours them.
So many mottled sins.
They age well, so often forgotten,
But not by the boardwalk.
Oh, he remembers.
Barrels and barrels,
To sate his thirst –
The thirst of thousands.
Still, sate is quite the lie,
For, try as he might,
And though he certainly enjoys the quest,
Empty barrels salt the throat.
Taunt. Torture.
And he is always thirsty.