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Let's reflect upon our happier days...

He is a bottle of booze.

(with a face like peaked ice

and hands of soft regrets)

Old, wasted, tinted bottle of booze

Forgotten in the sands of a picnic

Left to lie on sunless shores

And wither away in softly-spoken

unhad belligerence.

He spills out like an accident

(though it’s very finely planned)

And gathers up his amethyst-faded

whisky words

Back into his mouth with careful fingers.

Apologies like grains unseen

but swallowed,

Sliding down his throat in

Warm remorse.

Boozy eyes and a boozy smile,

He dribbles out his own lips.

But he cannot grasp

Such an ill-fated concept:

To be drunk, but not have tasted

A single drop.

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Let's reflect upon our happier days... by 


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