Barfly Bliss

Glittering silver shorts

hugging tight

making her mojo sway

with a feisty intent.

-

Eyes waltzing,

throats drowning,

booze magnifying cabooses.

-

Standing in the middle

of a bunch of nothings

wanting, but not caring, and still

hoping for someone or perhaps

just wanting to appeal.

-

My, what a pair

of those two feet high

bulky platforms.

-

And that hair,

wondering if it's the same

down there.

-

And those hips,

surrounding that wonderful bliss.

-

Wow, what a grip I bet!

What a stance!

Her face a dormant glance,

no chance for a trance.

-

How about a dance?

I beg.

-

She's not grasping my thought

of a desperate measure;

yet, standing there like a full glass

of Jim Beam or maybe

a bottle of Kessler—deliciously repugnant.

-

Nevertheless—transparent but not fragile;

wasted but not senseless;

quiet but just an articulate appearance

(clear and precise to the bone),

yet glowing like glitter,

shinning everywhere in everyone.

-

She's clean, congruous, and evidently

emphasized by the booze.

-

Her glittering silver lights in my eyes.

Lighting my shocking pride,

feelings of disguise—she tries.

-

Skin sweating,

hands drowning,

booze amplifying,

stares glowing,

black-out growing…

-

by Bazooka Teaches