Sunday, September 6, 2009

Etude in G

Garbled genius ghostlike beneath too much gin
A gourmet mind now a mere garnish
The grandeur gone from our conversation
The potential embers a fading glow
The goodwill between us gliding, sliding down his throat into gut drowning suppressed feelings by yet another glass of booze.
Glancing at the clock I am panicked by the passing time. Our moments together governed by his rank and file and the goodwill of the war machine.
He's scared. He's different. I glide my fingers into the small tuck behind his left ear.... our secret spot.... as my lips gloss over the nape of his neck. A gust of knowing acts as go-between to our hearts, and there is a gentle connection still.
Damn the grenades and other ghastly goods of war. I will find this man again and nurture the garden of true love we once shared.

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