An
imaginary drunken situation.
She meticulously negotiates a thin
Filmy layer of hair on the nozzle
Of the slick
oily bottle, transparent:
To keep it
intact and clean.
By the time eventide comes, she
has to hide
it or destroy
it,
for her, his
return is a grim disaster
rum and gin are
his forte.
She
has to change the
scenario
Of the sinister
drinks,
For the
dysfunctional lobby
Is a
nightmare for her,
For her
sire, it is a routine
thrill.
Clock Six strikes a terror,
For his
fond craving of the vial,
His staggering and volleying
are the walls’
crescendo.
Her throw of a
keychain
Her defensive protocol,
Dissolves the vial, know
not
If their
tussle and tempo too.
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