Froth of Guinness spruces his 'stache
While Mist of Arbor hovers in her throat
He remembers her days of exoticism
As she longs for his former brilliance
He slams the brakes at the sign
And beats the horn with increasing stupor
Accelerating with a first kiss' thrill
Because the bridge has only one narrow lane
Both drunk with the wrong reason
And without a designated driver
They see a pointy flash of yellow
Approaching like a sobriety test
A quarter mile was the deepest
The former lovers ever fell
Things I like:
ReplyDelete- Your new place.
- Your poem.
*toasts*
I look forward to reading whatever writing may be forthcoming.