Vodka Infused Conversations

Posted by | September 07, 2013 | Online Exclusive | No Comments
Photo for Vicky's poem

I see you,

ashen lips,

coffee eyes,

wrapping your tongue in Camel smoke.

empty bottle,

broken brain,

And a little too good looking,

to be this alone and blasé.

I feel you,

shattered look,

cold love,

Corroding in your handsome art.

Because one pretty smile left you high and dry,

with that moonshine, blue funk crease

Just between your eyes.

So you changed;

A poison waiting to be drunk.

Charming-as-hell curse words,

vapid dry wit and anti-chart topper remarks.

But who really cares,

Confession. Expression.

We’re all just drinking to be drunk.

Dance a while for Dutch courage,

then yell over deep base strobe,

with a half numbed-brain.

That I think you’re secretly dying,

in those perfect comatose grins

And that I’m sorry you’re being seduced,

by a cajoling cliché.

But that you should probably just suck it up.

And tomorrow I will see you,

silver spoon feeding yourself

with your low-GI, high-in-fiber breakfast;

the quintessential contented.

I’ll realize that all my words

were just half-cut on lazer lights and late nights,

equating to “Shit-I-said-that” stomach turns,

and now sounding so stupidly poetical.

So, I will pretend this vodka-infused conversation just never happened.