Samantha One, Two, Three

07 Jan


Samantha One, Two, Three


she tastes better with the rum

but I don’t tell her

I write it on a napkin instead

and order us another round

she looks relieved

slipping two fingers in my pocket

the ring and the pinkie sly

to snatch a cigarette

I am relieved

since I’m gonna use her for a poem

later tonight

if I ever make it home

alone or warm and warned

by her silver breath

and rutilant health

her wet skin nothing but a coin purse

for jangling souls

and crumpled hearts

and aging wallets made of cheapened leather

and other minds relieved

by this natural, astringent calm

of cynic expectations acquiesced

with a sigh that’s dull

as dull as the paint across her nails

that cheap dollar property

where someone’s skin hides underneath


the drinks, they finally come

as she steps back in

to sit down next to me again

after her smoke is done

after the familiar air outside seeped it’s way inside

and I am ready to test my theory

like clipping a lonely wing

because I know her

the way I know a few

ungallantly and cold

as senescent as small regrets usually go

and I am not at all surprised

relieved only as loneliness can be

that when she kisses me

she tastes better with the rum


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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