Southern Comfort

*** Author note*** The following post was intended for Tequilatudes “sister blog” Afterparty, which is designated for poetry and fiction and darker tales. Accidentally I posted this piece on Tequilatudes. I published it because of it’s relation to relationships, the reality of the piece to my life at the time of creating it and in hopes that you will, of course, enjoy it. Cheers. ( No whores where harmed in the making of the poem, just saying. 😉

Bar. no feelings, Absolute truth is inevitable now, with Jack bubbling besides me. A man, a stranger, a friend, a provider, asks me what I want. My reply, “Shoot-her.”

Visions of us by the Mar…Teeny lies are everywhere. I-see frozen glasses hiding indifferent eyes. You sipper her sweetness as balm to wounded pride. Thirsting for relief, after seeing you at her side. I turned to Jack, bubbling in my eyes.

Cosmopolitan hues of grandeur reflected in your eyes. You had a passionate glow, encased in glass elegance. That was then.

Now, “shooter”. Drink her in, let the speed of her pleasure intoxicate you. Beware of the after-taste of the bitter poison of illusion. Your poison chose you, as now I pick mine – up – and in – Jack bubbling inside.

Tart reality fell as as Lemon…drops in front of you. I’ve tasted mine – accepted it – paid for it – savoured it.

It’s almost time you order yours. Come on, ask for tonic or ale-inate knowledge of what has occurred.

Jack is gone now. My provider has asked what next?  Bitter drunkenness pricks at my eyes and I reply, “shoot-her.”

Kill the pain, remove the memories, dull all senses.

My stranger friend nods to the person next to me at the Bar -no feelings, Absolute truth is inevitable now. It’s you, I realize.

Smugly I swirl my bitter remedy in a..tumbler? feel her? forgot her so soon I see… I peer again through my intoxicated haze, and all I note is your pain. I introduced you to my friend, the stranger, my provider, he asked you for what you wanted.

You didn’t know.

I turned and saw her at the edge of a -salt rimmed – tear hits my glass – then she kissed someone else.

You told me of how inciting she was and how you drank her in as balm to your wounded pride and how reality fell as the sour Lemon drop in my hand.

How sex on the beach was the order and it was returned as a Bloody Mary.

Last call as a blast rang out, I shot-her.

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