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Barfly Bliss

Updated on December 5, 2016
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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…


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