His face only ever lights up
when the story of my intoxication
passes between our group of faces;
It flickers behind his eyes.
He is sturdy like an olive tree branch
and masculine like the days are weak.
He drinks his scotch slowly
Knocking it back one joke at a time
He swallows his teeth and melts passion into poison.
Created: May 29, 2012memorizednostalgia Document Media