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Anais Vionet Feb 21
This was last Saturday night. We were at a rooftop party in downtown New Haven thrown by ‘DocHouse.’ Doc-House is kind of a frat-house, owned by Dr. Melon, where he and seven doctoral students live. My BF Peter lived there once - before he graduated and took a job in Geneva - that’s how I met Dr. Melon. I think Peter asked Melon to ‘keep an eye’ on me - because he texts me an invitation every week and people with multiple doctorates and doctoral students don’t usually hang with lowly undergraduates.

The invitation said ‘rooftop’ but we’re mostly on the third floor - not on the actual roof - because it’s about 39°f and windy out there tonight. The floor space was about seventy by a hundred feet, there were pillars but no walls. The space was lit by a million strings of white Christmas lights.

The party was packed and loud - so loud I was wearing ear plugs. Beach chairs and card tables were the furniture. There were foosball, pool and two ping-pong tables (one of those being used for "Beer Pong"). A karaoke machine patched into two Marshall amps and speakers acted as a DJ.

Of course, there was a bar. Everyone was supposed to bring something. We brought two bags of ice, two magnums of Gordon's gin, two fifths of Cinzano vermouth, a jar of large green olives and a box of toothpicks, because there’s always room for the proper anesthetic. Martinis aren’t a shiny, new hobby with me - they’re a lifelong passion that I only indulge in on weekends and in psychologically safe environments.

There were 7 in our party - Sunny, Lisa, Leong (three of my suitemates), Lisa’s BF David (a Wall Street M&A man), Andy (a carrot-topped chain-smoking divinity-school undergraduate friend of Sunny’s), Charles (our escort, and driver) and me.

We’d been there about 30 minutes when Jordie, a guy I’ve been sort of crushing on for several months, showed up - alone. Lisa turned to me and yelled, “Uuu, lookie lookie,” when she saw him - I barely heard her - but I read her lips. I’d never really talked to Jordie, but when I looked at him, through the warm, martini mist, my tummy felt like Jello-excitement.

As the night wore on, Jordie and I started hanging out. We lost at foosball, 8-ball and ping-pong before we went up on the roof to get some air. The silvery ½-moon crescent was obscured, off and on by clouds, like a shell game where the moon was a jewel on blue velvet. You could almost hear the operator’s smooth, practiced patter, “now you see it, now you don’t, place your bets.”

It was quiet up there, so we actually talked. Somehow, the vast night seemed intimate. As we talked, the conversation was delicate and careful, like the words were made of crystal.

A while later, Jordie and I were back downstairs dancing. The entire floor was coated with that gray-speckled covering - so you could dance anywhere - but a rectangle of police tape in that flooring defined the official ‘dance floor’.

Two hours later, we were watching Sunny sing karaoke while holding a fuchsia martini (just add raspberry liqueur) in one hand. When Sunny goes, she totes commits and belting out an angry, screamo version of ‘Ain’t it fun’ by Paramore, she tried for a Beyonce-like head-spin (don’t try this at home), and slung half of her drink on the crowd - but it didn’t slow her, or them, down. After finishing, to huge applause, she took several bows and coming back to our table, she asked Andy, “How was I?”
Andy held out his hand and lampooned her by waffling it, in a so-so gesture.
As Lisa handed Sunny a replacement cocktail, she told Andy “You don’t get it - it’s supposed to be awful.”
“Then it’s the best version of the song I’ve ever heard.” he replied, holding up his hands like she had a gun.

Jodie and I danced some more and after a while, someone played a slow song. As we moved close together, his subtle, boy musk was torturous and intoxicating. How come guys smell better when they’re all sweaty and I smell like a horse? Eight weeks of lonely boredom and three martinis (4?) were almost enough to churn the sweat of desire into the intoxicating liquor of consent. In my secret heart I wanted him. Badly. I wanted to take him home and smash against him for hours. Alas, I have a (missing) boyfriend and I don’t believe in oopsies.

At that very moment I saw Charles, standing silhouetted in one of the dance floor lights - he had our coats in hand. I swear, that man can read my mind. I glanced at my watch, 2:30am. I stopped close dancing with Jordie and stepped back. “I gotta go,” I told him.
“It was fun,” he said, shrugging and smiling.
“It WAS fun,” I agreed, taking my coat from Charles who’d come over. “(I’ll) See you next week,” I added, as everyone in our little caravan started to move.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Lampoon: to ridicule with harsh satire.

totes = totally
Billy Wynne lover.
Best baseball pitcher ever
field of dreams 72 clever
And me Mestizo wife
Within your theme songs
Shaks restaurant-Cashier job:
You ate and came to me to pay.
you asked me to walk by the ocean
Your eyes glared so sea-sky blue
Tallest Knight with magical hands.
You didn't say you had a wife
and I didn't ask!.
"Sweet Caroline song blasted
on your radio cassette player
an" The great Pretender,*
all night long.
smooth passionate fallen Angel
Long thick gentle inside
I couldn't climb mountains
Americans seldom chose Mestizo
Women for a wife
this thought froze me iced still.
over a grand dinner table
by the lovers seashores
I simply asked you for your seed
you said;
You don't want to hurt me
you were a married man
and had a child.
  You sounded blue
by your inability
to see it simply otherwise.
A happier easier scenario
two wives not just one.
That was me.
Thanks for sharing your
wedding vous famed
theme songs to honor me too.
Our passionate
love making nights
and for calling me wife
a few bittersweet day,-nights.
I forever missed you and
Loved meeting you.
Wished you all the best.
I did meet the love of my life
We fell in love at first sight
an American like you
An elite chose me to change Earth
My once upon a time King of hearts
Due to abandonment syndrome
I let him go regretting it forever.
My billionaire loving mind
keeps me sane and safe
My Psalm 109.
By: Mr. and Mrs. Andrews.
Honoring Karijinbba
Once a year its champagne!
I feel calm passionate and teary.
It gets my head to Paris
  As life is broken down goes out
in transition or revelation,
there's a greàter darkness then the one we inadvertently fight,
the darkness of the soul
that has lost its way.
I was chosen by great sages crossing paths the sting of my blindfold lingers noone sees hope or their future, or where it leads we know only that it's bought in pain and sacrifice.
Letting go what I loved the most.
was eternal loss, having
no reparation, neither in time,
nor in eternity.
My love river is truth it's mouth is
cosmic creation.
He measured sensuality
secretively, and in shadows 
he showed me feathers of half
a man syllhuette of him,
and feels guilty I just fill in blanks,
why smack a devolving face?
And what the heck!
I first measure people in trust.
then love, as true love is rare.
Trust tells love where to roam.
Love can't be made perfect
in distrust nor fear of rivals.
When I give my heart I do,
When I share my dreams too.
I do not drown in midnight
   dew not retreat;
but I won't take sand in my eyes.
After the loving I go from rags
to riches in his love or shine
to wiser horizons..
Mr and Mrs Andrews.
At Karijinbba
Tom Lefort Jul 2021
Twist and turn the lid you keep on everything,
Release the madness sobriety holds within;
Pour out the darkness, drink it up.
Carry me home on the rapids and rivers of gin.

TS Lefort 2021
Winnalynn Wood Mar 2021
***** with olives and gin craving me in
The burn can’t erase what’s bustling within

When I caught you two flushed by the door
What once again, did I come here for

Wandering about, just a little aimless
Laden with doubt, just a little senseless
Got lost downtown, just a little faithless

Fruitless love makes the time for a passion trap  
Honey lust just unwinds for tensions to snap
Admirers by the dime you mindlessly attract

But there’s nothing more unsavory than the sound
Of a heady build-up come crashing down
Lately I’ve been missing, since you aren’t around

Don’t think I haven’t heard you rustling in the sheets
I know you have a hundred more secrets to keep

Honey it’s more than just a little affair
You’re testing how much I really care

Something you will someday truly regret
While you traipse and think I’ll easily forget
Aaron Nov 2020
Writing a poem for the sake of writing a poem.
I’m feeling emotions. More than ten.
Emotions that numb the toughest of men.
Even after all these exercises on Zen
It still feels like I’m falling apart at the hem.

But it’s all good! Isn’t it? I’m here.
Living through it with fear
Just ordered a double gin and some beer
But the mere feeling evokes a tear
and leaves me kneeling at the gateway of those emotions.
Dripping all over me like hot lotion
Without commitment or devotion.
And everything feels like it's slow motion.

So apparently it’s normal. To feel things.
They say all the stings and the pings are worth it
because we’re not supposed to be perfect,
and ‘these feelings need to be nurtured’.
*******. It’s all a bit perverted like a lie that's murmured.
This ******* feeling is so determined that I can't win.
If I do, I'll be singed and pinned
Even though I haven't actually sinned.
Yet I'm the one writing this poem. Not her.

Where the **** is that beer?
So I wrote this. This poem. Here.
Julia Aug 2020
"They" are the reason I put
gin in my vinegar.
I am light years ahead,
a misfit.
"They" crush my very existence
into tiny white lies. 13 stripes,
50 stars in the wide eyes of
time’s bride:                              
Now is not the place
to erase history deface
Its story.
Meditate to medicate
To my reader: you are full of beauty, and so is this world.
Broadsky Jun 2020
"can I see you tonight?"

already **** well knowing what the answer will be.

still I ask,

because I don't think you know what you do to me, tracing the grain of your skin... you don't know how long I've waited for you, I'd pass the time drinking gin.

you used to move me
like sweet notes sung by a violin
but I can't wait forever,
my patience is wearing thin.

walking on these egg shells, trying not to crack
when all I want to do is yell
"you're absolutely crushing my heart, please give it back."

"I didn't think to ask"
you say; isn't that such a shame?
when you look can't you see the discrepancies between us?
does it not shake and rattle your brain?

I wouldn't think twice to climb a mountain for you in the pouring rain,
but honestly, sweetheart...
I don't think you'd do the same.

and that's alright,
because this is my domain,
I now make the rules to this game.

things will be different, I'm not going to lie.

this is what happens when I'm made to color inside the lines.
I think the instructions on how to hurt me are inscribed on the inside of your ringlet curls.
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