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#gin
The smoke filled the room Overpowering the smell of gin As the lights flashed to the stage Begging silently for your attention And you can't look away, why would you? The troubles that weigh on your shoulder aren't here The things here are beautiful! don't you think? The gin washes away the sin The smoke is like a cloak The rhythm of tapping feet is so much better than the stomping out there Isn't it? The Kit Kat Klub brings out the best Better then the outside Where the frost is everywhere no warmth Food is cold and rotting But who needs food when you have gin!? Who needs fire when you have lust!? The world outside is crumbling but who cares!? We have NO troubles here Because if it doesn't go against us why should we care? The more gin and smokes that are gulped and smoked Only makes it harder to see Doesn't mean that it isn't there If you can't see the killer you're still afraid aren't you? If there's still people in the streets others are still harmed, ja? And soon people around us disappear And others are in their place No more warm people Now it's an unnerving cold The sound of synchronized dancing doesn't seem different from the sound of marching As you look through the smoke, it covers the bands on their arms But the smell of the cabaret doesn't cover the smell of rotting It doesn't cover the smell of Gunpowder and gas on them Their boots track the dirt, a grime of hundreds Of weeping, starving souls As hundreds still drink to take off the edge While others stare off the edge, down to the piles of bottles and ashes The smoke isn't from cigarettes but from buildings people don't come out of When the curtain falls and the Kit Kat Klub ends Six Million Jews Are Dead.
0
May 19
May 19, 2026 at 12:59 AM UTC
Gin and Smokes.
The smoke filled the room Overpowering the smell of gin As the lights flashed to the stage Begging silently for your attention And you can't look away, why would you? The troubles that weigh on your shoulder aren't here The things here are beautiful! don't you think? The gin washes away the sin The smoke is like a cloak The rhythm of tapping feet is so much better than the stomping out there Isn't it? The Kit Kat Klub brings out the best Better then the outside Where the frost is everywhere no warmth Food is cold and rotting But who needs food when you have gin!? Who needs fire when you have lust!? The world outside is crumbling but who cares!? We have NO troubles here Because if it doesn't go against us why should we care? The more gin and smokes that are gulped and smoked Only makes it harder to see Doesn't mean that it isn't there If you can't see the killer you're still afraid aren't you? If there's still people in the streets others are still harmed, ja? And soon people around us disappear And others are in their place No more warm people Now it's an unnerving cold The sound of synchronized dancing doesn't seem different from the sound of marching As you look through the smoke, it covers the bands on their arms But the smell of the cabaret doesn't cover the smell of rotting It doesn't cover the smell of Gunpowder and gas on them Their boots track the dirt, a grime of hundreds Of weeping, starving souls As hundreds still drink to take off the edge While others stare off the edge, down to the piles of bottles and ashes The smoke isn't from cigarettes but from buildings people don't come out of When the curtain falls and the Kit Kat Klub ends Six Million Jews Are Dead.
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41
There are times I wish for wishes just to wish it all away for the thoughts, memories, and feelings refuse to stay put away. Maybe a Jinn could help or maybe gin could too but then I wouldn’t be me and you just wouldn’t be you.
0
Jan 29
Jan 29, 2026 at 6:53 PM UTC
No wishing for more wishes
Cheers to the heaven who gifted me This grace of flowing words Into my scattered notes; Else I would've long been bleeding For baring this fragile piece, Everytime I took a sip of gin.
0
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 8:30 AM UTC
drunken words
Like sparkling water, your breath punctuates every gulp— Sharp and cold, I come back for more, At your behest—like saffroned ice cubes on the eyelids. A sober delight. Scrubbing the grout in between the tiles with black salts, Pale like drying sunscreen, piercing my palate with cedar— Where did the subtlety go?
0
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 8:00 PM UTC
Salted (S)Pines
can you tell me with your lips how your eyes perceive me? do you see me as an intricate basket with colorful beads? done so by ancient hands so expertly weaved? can you tell me the secrets of the soil that clasps the roots of the trees? can you tell me all the names and whispers you hear in the breeze? can you tell me how you always know the ice is thick enough to walk on after the winter's fourth freeze? can you tell me how your eyes always know how to find me through a drunken crowd? even through all the smoke from the hundreds of people creating this dust cloud can you tell me how you always know when I'm saying things out loud? even when the music is blaring and the bartenders can't read the words people have mouthed and say "sorry, if you want a drink you'll need to shout" can you tell me why you smile when I lean out the window as you drive over and over again circling this roundabout? Can you tell me how you've always known the tone of my breath and the song of my soul? Can you tell me why somedays it feels like our first time meeting at a school dance back in the days of old? Can you see us standing at the table with the snacks and the spiked fruit punch bowl? Can you see me trying to catch the words of this song in whole? they're playing this new type of music, "have you heard it before? you ask me, they call it rock'n'roll" Can you tell me you'll walk me home? hold my hand like it's the first time and forget I live just three houses past the big light pole? Can we keep talking and maybe kiss at the end of this stroll? "Can you tell me something about you?" I ask because knowing you deeper is a different type of beauty to behold I smile as you tell me "I always loved when my aunt would make her thanksgiving broccoli and cheddar casserole" Can you tell me how with you nothing feels like sin even when your lips trace over every inch of my skin? Can you tell me how you know to always lift my chin to look you in the eyes even when the woes wear on me from where I've been? Can you tell me how you felt about me when you watched me order a cocktail with my favorite gin? but now Can I tell you how long I've I loved you? it's actually long before I even knew our time together would begin
0
Nov 27, 2024
Nov 27, 2024 at 9:46 AM UTC
perceive me
can you tell me with your lips how your eyes perceive me? do you see me as an intricate basket with colorful beads? done so by ancient hands so expertly weaved? can you tell me the secrets of the soil that clasps the roots of the trees? can you tell me all the names and whispers you hear in the breeze? can you tell me how you always know the ice is thick enough to walk on after the winter's fourth freeze? can you tell me how your eyes always know how to find me through a drunken crowd? even through all the smoke from the hundreds of people creating this dust cloud can you tell me how you always know when I'm saying things out loud? even when the music is blaring and the bartenders can't read the words people have mouthed and say "sorry, if you want a drink you'll need to shout" can you tell me why you smile when I lean out the window as you drive over and over again circling this roundabout? Can you tell me how you've always known the tone of my breath and the song of my soul? Can you tell me why somedays it feels like our first time meeting at a school dance back in the days of old? Can you see us standing at the table with the snacks and the spiked fruit punch bowl? Can you see me trying to catch the words of this song in whole? they're playing this new type of music, "have you heard it before? you ask me, they call it rock'n'roll" Can you tell me you'll walk me home? hold my hand like it's the first time and forget I live just three houses past the big light pole? Can we keep talking and maybe kiss at the end of this stroll? "Can you tell me something about you?" I ask because knowing you deeper is a different type of beauty to behold I smile as you tell me "I always loved when my aunt would make her thanksgiving broccoli and cheddar casserole" Can you tell me how with you nothing feels like sin even when your lips trace over every inch of my skin? Can you tell me how you know to always lift my chin to look you in the eyes even when the woes wear on me from where I've been? Can you tell me how you felt about me when you watched me order a cocktail with my favorite gin? but now Can I tell you how long I've I loved you? it's actually long before I even knew our time together would begin
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27
Relaxed by the gin I get up and see the yard -- rotating round me.
0
Aug 25, 2024
Aug 25, 2024 at 2:40 AM UTC
[ Relaxed by the gin ]
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.
0
Feb 21, 2024
Feb 21, 2024 at 1:47 PM UTC
the 3rd floor
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.
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17
Billy Wynne Veracruz best baseball pitcher ever Me Mestizo beloved by the shore a teen a wannabe Mom wannabe wife. Within his theme songs In beautiful mystic Vera-cruz. From the Shaks restaurant my cashiering job Pitcher asked to walk by the ocean hand in hand. Baseball players eyes glared so sea-sky blue. Tallest Knight touching hands. Handsome king of hearts "Sweet Caroline song blasted on pitchers radio cassette player and " The great Pretender,* The hours long. Smooth all passion seed withheld and me fire firefly flew away.. ~~~ Kings like you ought to have many wives and many babies Your kind are the crown jewels of fatherhood and motherhood best super human seeds divine Your legacy rules Earth. ~~~ I found my own reign, great treasures my king heart of gold like mine, called me beauty himself Beast. Loved to be a one woman man for a one man woman like me his rddbba-Ginny. We fell in love at first sight my true love my handsome American. Such elite chose me to change Earth he was the bridge and me his worldbringer portal to heaven his star seed. My once upon a time my twin soul, twin flame King of hearts, became my imaginary best friend my owl of wisdom my everything. Our theme songs were Spill your heart to me, and what a wonderful world by Armstrong L. We were also beauty and the Beast. The memory of my knight my king lover, my true love my companion, keeps me safe and sound. ~~~~ By: Mr. and Mrs. Andrews. Honoring Karijinbba
0
Jun 23, 2023
Jun 23, 2023 at 8:35 AM UTC
Wynne Pitcher & Ginny lamp
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
0
Oct 13, 2021
Oct 13, 2021 at 10:08 PM UTC
Gin in a bottle
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
0
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 5:37 PM UTC
Carry Me Home
***** 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
0
Mar 21, 2021
Mar 21, 2021 at 5:47 PM UTC
Testing Me
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’. **** off. 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.
0
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 6:08 PM UTC
I wrote a poem.
"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 blissfully.
0
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 10:50 PM UTC
eagle crown
"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.
0
Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 9:54 AM UTC
8:14pm
She was a lovely looking thing, A beautiful young blonde girl/woman She hadn't been with us long... at    work She was smart and sassy, even a little    scary Held strong opinions on some things, She lived close to where I lived, only    a few miles away So I was sitting amongst them one    day, the girls/the ladies They were a little bored that day and    for some sport Were trying to draw me out, to get me        to open up a little To reveal some more about my ways    and my life So I thought I'd have some fun with    them I told them I did some painting as a    hobby And that my speciality was 'the    female Nude' But alas! I had a problem, I had no    one to sit for me "If only I had some beautiful nymph, some haughty Queen, some dazzling princess", I lamented And then I'd gaze over at Her, give her    a longing look, Then of course, someone upped and    said the obvious " Jen....don't you live close to where he lives, would you not go sit for him " My face it lit up and I smiled "No! I would not!!! she said    emphatically, disgusted Now I knew from the Christmas party    she liked to drink Gin So I said enticingly "I'll throw in a    few bottles of Gin" "I'd never pose **** for anyone", she replied again emphatically, "it'd be embarrassing, it'd be degrading! Sitting naked before some man!", " But ", I replied, " you wouldn't be embarrassed sitting for me 'Cos when I paint a **** I insist on    being in the **** myself as well So as to make my Sitter feel more at    home, more at ease Yeah, Me! I'm very... Avant Garde" (said with a devilish twinkle in my eye) Still she resisted my painterly    charms So as to further entice her I said "I'll even cook you breakfast, no one can resist my lovely sizzling sausages". I felt as though I'd dangled my carrot    right in her face But still she wouldn't take the bait. I suppose I was lucky she hadn't for if    she had of (agreed) I would have had to have learnt how    to paint Nudes real fast And how to cook sausages and other    breakfast repast.
0
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 9:38 AM UTC
**** with Violins
She was a lovely looking thing, A beautiful young blonde girl/woman She hadn't been with us long... at    work She was smart and sassy, even a little    scary Held strong opinions on some things, She lived close to where I lived, only    a few miles away So I was sitting amongst them one    day, the girls/the ladies They were a little bored that day and    for some sport Were trying to draw me out, to get me        to open up a little To reveal some more about my ways    and my life So I thought I'd have some fun with    them I told them I did some painting as a    hobby And that my speciality was 'the    female Nude' But alas! I had a problem, I had no    one to sit for me "If only I had some beautiful nymph, some haughty Queen, some dazzling princess", I lamented And then I'd gaze over at Her, give her    a longing look, Then of course, someone upped and    said the obvious " Jen....don't you live close to where he lives, would you not go sit for him " My face it lit up and I smiled "No! I would not!!! she said    emphatically, disgusted Now I knew from the Christmas party    she liked to drink Gin So I said enticingly "I'll throw in a    few bottles of Gin" "I'd never pose **** for anyone", she replied again emphatically, "it'd be embarrassing, it'd be degrading! Sitting naked before some man!", " But ", I replied, " you wouldn't be embarrassed sitting for me 'Cos when I paint a **** I insist on    being in the **** myself as well So as to make my Sitter feel more at    home, more at ease Yeah, Me! I'm very... Avant Garde" (said with a devilish twinkle in my eye) Still she resisted my painterly    charms So as to further entice her I said "I'll even cook you breakfast, no one can resist my lovely sizzling sausages". I felt as though I'd dangled my carrot    right in her face But still she wouldn't take the bait. I suppose I was lucky she hadn't for if    she had of (agreed) I would have had to have learnt how    to paint Nudes real fast And how to cook sausages and other    breakfast repast.
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59
You caught my eye but once, You caught me eye but twice, Then popped them in a cocktail glass, And topped it up with ice. Vermouth you added first, And then a shot of gin, A squeeze of lime, a dash of tea, With salt around the rim. _‘One martini coming up!’_ you drawled, You slid it down the bar, And so returned my eyes to me, Like olives from a jar. To those who swear that love is blind, You've surely never been, The subject of a stolen glance, From a barmaid named Nadine.
0
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 6:31 PM UTC
Stolen Glances
October October. Your birthday. I was the first to wish you. You kept it hush– don’t tell anyone, you said. I obeyed. Like a dog. When you pat my hair I bared, but you’re tearing my heart inside. I’m scared. October. Smiles and cameras. If my friends didn’t push me then, I’ll have no proof you exist. Will that be better? But I’m happy. I’m always happy. October. Studies, studies, studies. I was drowned in studies. And food. I thought I forgot about you for good. Yet amidst equations, you’re there. How can I ever fare? October. Memes, dreams… Dreams. At night, alone, I do feel a bit lonely. Empty… Nah. I got my gutsy guitar. We jammed till daylight. October thirty-first. Ooh, spooky– hold my gin, I’m gonna burst– listened to good ol’ rock as I drank whiskey on rock, coke– I had fun of course– without you. Without you– October, ending in an hour. A friend and I in the bus, We laughed. My mate returned. The bed is no longer bare. October, November. If liquor can erase my entire hard drive, then so be it. But just of you. Just of… Just of… who?
0
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 10:35 AM UTC
October
I'm not sure if it's the gin Or your slow, drunken kisses, But I sure **** know I'm gonna sleep well tonight.
0
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 8:34 PM UTC
Tonight
I could still taste the whiskey In my mouth, rum-rimmed, The tang of coke, light gin, Better than mint, As my eyes turned three, Balance broke, but My mind stayed intact, So I took my calculator, Solved calculus in front of you, Pi r square h, volume of the drink-- Look, Chandrasekhar, Volkoff-- My words are slurred yet clearer Than ***** neat, more fluent Than *** slipping in like silk Into my throat, the blooming Sweet heat lingers, my Feet numb, as I walked, Arm slung over your shoulder, Laughed, fear clear, stir sears, I'm not sorry, I'm free, in glee With you, while the mild aftertaste Remains, dissipates late, my mate, Our best most happiest date... Oh boy. I may just forget much. But I won't forget That you still owe me twenty point four seven five dollars.
0
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 11:45 AM UTC
Tipsy
afraid to live, afraid to sin, afraid to drown in a bottle of gin.
0
Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 7:30 AM UTC
Gin
_White nights, grey days, Phosphorus and gin; Graffiti-laden pavements, Diamond rain and paraffin. Chalk dust reveries, Aerosols and spit; Zero-hour freeways, Magnetic parapets. City high, city low, Monoliths in drag; Silent spaces, dwelling places, A hoody and a bag. Freestyle evangelists, Salvation strikes a pose; Train tracks, kitchen hacks, The rapture and the snow._
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Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 2:52 PM UTC
Eating Snow
Ten tiny fingers, Ten little tiny toes, Chubby cheeks, Dimple chin, Like grandpa's and his cheeky grin, Eyes are blue, Mischievous  same as grandma's too, Complexion fair, With mama's silky hair, As tradition goes, Family's small button nose, Papa's  sweet frown, And his boring yawn. Welcome to the happy family little one, With lots of kisses,huggies and cuddles,it's going to be fun. 18/5/2019
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May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 8:44 AM UTC
Welcome Little One
* * Living under   the heady cast of the Juniper tree ;   an existence founded over sweeter decay * It thatches a callous scabbing for us to build upon   but releases gases from beneath   that humour our sleep-waking state * Everything is yield to its medicated sterility   yet,   as time passes,   things become more vulnerable to rotting conditions :   loose pore attachment   splits in nails   soft grey flakings   withdrawn circulation   moisture   fluctuating body tempature   unattached thought   disorientation   thoughtless and extreme mood   forgotten bursts of severe aggression  ... * Fertile tiny flies   travel through   the sponge of everything :   they balance this environment * Disquieted woozy days   and slum summer   and guests who feel foreign   when our displays spill over...   it’s all mallatuned * Small tumbles, injury and self care shelved    * Entertainment is imperative   jar in mit   distraction is key   merry made and merry go round   and kilter unkeen   and one patient taking care of the other patient   crying jokes at each a smother   unkept nesters   bruises and guestures   emotionally infested infantasy   investment ingested   under the guidance of the Juniper tree....   the botchful why of the juniper
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Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 11:38 PM UTC
Juniper Notes :
Naiilang ako sayo Wag mo akong tingnan sa mata! Takot na takot na ang puso Sayo ba'y muling aasa? Natataranta itong isip Nais ko na munang maidlip Ngunit sa aking pag gising, Ramdam ko pa rin ang pagkalasing Sabihin mo nga! Ilang bote pa ba ng GIN?
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Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 4:47 AM UTC
RED HORSE