The place was the unexpected carefree host
Of several tipsy nights wetted
By friendly toasts and temporary infatuations,
Lasting the duration granted
By gulping red clepsydras measuring
Time with the flow of inebriating substances.

My passion alas soon drove to the abolishment
Of such street hours of darkness to the benefit
Of clarity, concentration and sobriety,
For the unfolding of a novel awaiting
Virtual carbon particles to stain
Imaginary paper pages.

The place hence became my daylight salon,
Betaking myself to it, a necessary resolution
To having a semblance of social life, a foot
In the “real” world, while taking a compulsory break
From self-relegation to the seclusion
Of my private abode and imagination.

The sun, a spotlight directed on the thespians,
Lifting the nocturnal curtains, to unveil their act.
The stage, a familiar space for adult orphans,
Searching in Bacchus casual company.
Amongst the heterogeneous lot, a tall, big-lipped
Man, plays reminiscences of Tambourines.

His wide smile uncovers chipped white teeth,
Clashing with the colour of his skin.
The first time I saw him he was giddily bragging
Of recent dates made of sandwiches eaten
Sheltering from heat, in the fresh vegetable department
Of the discount down the road, from his apartment.

Incredulously I believed him, until he told me not to,
As of then he would be, my new befitted friend.
The big time dealer serving the entire region,
Always there when you need him,
To take care of the kids or escort you to the dentist
When in pain and to the other side of the city.

Notorious for going out of his way for others,
Generous with time, kind words, smiles and money,
His job does not define him yet completes
The spreading euphoria his presence bestows
Upon those who look for him or those
Who simply stumble into him, by chance.

you loved beer with an alcohol content more than your body could contain. he's lovely and you nudge him in the most delicate of ways because he's beautiful. you whisper the words you wanted to hear and he whispers back. you crawl up in your sheets and submerge yourself into your supernatural thoughts another brain deserves to hear. you walk in the most dangerous labyrinth of the island under the orange street lights thrusting up from the earth and still hear the humming birds eating biscuits dipped in yellow honey — it was gentle waves and light brown eyes tingeing its soft edges hands touching in the cold weather kind of safe. you end the night together with too much alcohol and red cheeks with a numb swollen feet but it's still what you wanted.

you went everywhere and you love it. he's a fictional varmint, too beautiful to be real, but he is. like how the shadows shifts from his small eyes down to your shoulder blades. everything about him and you were like carved on tablets and trees with names written on love letters. you love him because he's real, his rawness engulfs your soul and you know it, he's made for you and you were made for him because you've seen him without using your eyes, how your limbs would fill in the gaps and how the sound waves of your laughs will echo in the chambers of your organs.

you love wine and pour them every single morning and it tasted better than water but he's still the same and everything gets better and better like how your night lamp dimmed in reverse and in the worst of the worsts — a series of perpetual warfare and a great pertinacity of agony kind of worst — you still cling to the moment the Founder of the universe and all the elements of fate, time and space brought you to that day you met. in each accession of the most unfortunate circumstance, there is something that you wanted which makes you want to feel another mili second of tomorrow and another and another.

I’ve painted heartache in eyes

With every bottle of wine,
let’s drown ourselves
             High
                     in
                        Conversation 

To mend cracks in the pavement
we’ve waited to fill

You drank me in such style,
like a glass of vintage wine.
I could see your eyes acquiring
a special skill, at the moment
they set on me and then
your face attains a sheen.
I had the realization,all of a sudden
that this yen is no momentary affair.

See how years have flown!
As it  goes on aging, the wine
is becoming more sought after.

Traces of tiredness excavate deep into his skin,
Daily, as I enter with a volatile smile, weekly,
In search of my dose of earthly blood, pretending
I am blind to my perception, neglecting my intuition.

Assumptions lead to consider he’s always had one
Too many, and perhaps something more, should I guess
An alkaloid passing off as his friend, allowing him to keep
Going, beyond his natural forces and strength.

He’s ageing prematurely, worries and silver curls
For taxes and suppliers, a runny nose and a bloated belly,
Four years of activity, complots and conspiracy,
Courting customers who vary, trading loyalty for markdowns.

Experience acquired by the day, market research,
Watching the big shots being relieved, treating debts
By way of mathematical games as he pays
For each and every one of his mistakes.

His little dog assumes his likes, long grey hair
Covering his eyes, not to see, the infamy.
For that particular *** you can only ask Velier,
He sets the price, no bargains, no payables, barely any gain.

On the black market however, other stories are told.
Creative Naples, its entrepreneurs and financial guards
Guide you from depots to highways exchanging farewells
At the tollbooth. Your risk, your gloom, your despair.

The *** in his car boot costs less but is the same,
Same brand, same bottle, same taste, had to pass through Velier.
Nervous as a reluctant crook, his required foxiness impedes
Timid tears from rolling down his cheeks and give in.

As he questions the rules of the illegitimate system,
Cursing those deprived of scruples, dwelling
With notions of honesty and integrity, he too compelled
To evasion to merely survive,

His conclusion resolves in a simple explanation,
“If you are willing to give up morals, honour and passion
You can too attempt to succeed
In the wine bar industry.”

Honey,
you are so much more than the man you have gone to war for
You are so much more than the careless curses thrown at you for being who you are
You are so much more than the empty bottomless glasses of wine you seek comfort in
You are  so much more so honey put that glass down
and march to his door
remember what you stand for
and go to war .