She lead a paint horse to wine…
Now, she can’t get him not to drink..
She’s never ever had a father,
Now, she sits alone and thinks.
She lights the candles, prays to God..
That these Hors D’oeuvres aren’t just the start.
Focusing dim on the wall art,
pastry dishes and stale tarts.
The more she chatters, his brain it splatters,
Spreads along the wall like jam on a biscuit.
He sits in his mind and stays.
The geese outside, they run and play.
A sun is setting through a wine glass,
Sparkling glimmer like glitter on a birds ass.
His eyes expose the boring flicker of each hours pass.
They transition into pip-squeaks at the end of the speaking.
They’ve been well convinced, there’s no deceiving, the nothingness attached to the meaningless evening.
They drift off to bed, it’s well in the night.
She strips off her clothes, curved figure, backlight.
With blue eyes comes pain yet with sex in between beers..
In hindsight, he’d been lukewarm for years.
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