Ode to drinks, lovers & paradise

de Arry

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– a Bukowski reinterpretation –

Oh, my dear Jager,
I’m mentally making love
to your taste
spicy, spicy,
threatening taste.

But, alas I’m dreaming
about you
touching my lips
like no lover can do.

Oh, my beloved Redd’s
how I wish you were
naked
strolling in front
of
the curtained window
so our
neighbors could only see
our shapes
combining
the same way
your lips touch the cigarette.

Oh how I wish
I could
drink you…
how I wish
you weren’t…

Poison.
And so far away.

(thank you, my dear Ștefania E. C. for being a muse)

(photo (c) to their rightful owners. do not know the names, unfortunately)

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