Friday, September 25, 2009

the gold room special

held back by thoughts
she takes her tequila with training wheels
eyes averted - her words stuck deep in the chest
loose with no spine
they keep sliding down her throat
with the beer she sips on.

finally they come up
drunk enough
brave enough
truthful enough

words spat on my face
with enough pretense
to almost seem dignified

it was always a dance of time with no rhythm

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