Whiskey, cigarettes and a cheap room, I
Spin in discontent. Blurry and drunk, I
Bemoan my own lament. Knocking door, I
Now have a guest. With clever eyes and she
Came at my behest. I don’t think that she
Is yet sure, that I need her more - than she
Needs me. We kill the bottle and smokes, she
Mixes our marrow, a pleasure which we
Prolong for a time. Better than fine we
Crack our bones and then we stretch our spines. We
Find a moment to measure this kiss we
Share, amorous. And then she’s gone so I
Sit with eyes blood red, I’m completely pissed.
Because there may be something that I missed. - By Donavue
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