27 October 2007

Neither Drunk Nor Lonely

His quest to stave off a creeping loneliness
stalled in the bitter ardour of stale breath;
a night of scotch whisky and beer imbibed
raucousness with sex less than a fingers
come-hither breadth away failed to save
him from falling face down explaining he was
neither drunk nor lonely. It was the breath
exhaled from blackened teeth and bruised
lips which saved the day, breath which said,
who the hell died here? When no-one replied
he assumed it was he.
© 23 October 2007, I. D. Carswell