Like a sleeping sloth’s pulse
Or the top end build up to the ‘wet’
His alcoholic body shook
And his humid mind slowed
It hovered over a thought
Aggravating a sore
Mirroring a slow motion carousel to recovery
Yesterday, as the thudding sun set on the night before’s insane city
And binging on that last scotch, pill, club…need.
‘If we ever see each other again, my party mate, it will be too soon’
And thus brought it all, like a crisp clear wine, to its inevitable sweet end.