alcoholic (Remove filter)
Habits
We all have out tipple of choice, mine
i sip.
It's potent breath intertwines with mine
filling my lungs with pleasure.
Satisfying all of my dreams and desires.
I swig,
as my words become dizzy, muddled.
Phosphene eyes to match. Spirits,
lifted.
A wonderful serendipity,
i am free.
I gulp,
my mouth runs away with me, legs
unable.
The clock strikes, it's hand jittery
face wobbling.
Friday 16th December 2016 7:00 pm
Recent Comments
Nigel Astell on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
3 hours ago
John Coopey on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
5 hours ago
John F Keane on August 2025 Collage Poem: A Cut Above
6 hours ago
John F Keane on A Cut Above
6 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on I SHAN’T ALWAYS BE LOVELY
8 hours ago
Mike McPeek on Fallen Leaf
13 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on The Forgotten
14 hours ago
Rolph David on Sonnet: Imigh Hotovely, Imigh Smál Damnaithe! Imigh is Póg mo Thóin! [Out Hotovely, Out Damned Spot! Out and Kiss my Arse!]
15 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on His Majesty’s Stay Out of Hell Cards: “Divine Right” and “Convention”
15 hours ago
Hélène on Elementary
16 hours ago