She snatched it up before it touched
the ground, 
Wine lights my veins. Her eyes, tears
tracked slime. 
She knows which side her bread is
buttered on. 
I whispered. 
Red sicklysweet this morning. Sour. I
steady myself. 
Shimmering in the sun, cognac brown,
sometimes reddish-rum. 
Extract, a slice of processed prey.
Black cat tail-tip white 
Trails away. 
Minutes worth of ash remain, bending
with an orange 
Glow. Serpentine blue smoke aromatic -
flow.  
Thin - sterilized milk drains my coffee
Of colour. 
I return to bed and read.
No intention to sleep.
 
 
You capture those inane moments of sheer desperation, those dirty, messy moments of isolation, early in the morning...late at night...when no-one is looking, with a clinical eye and a satiric twist. Never stop writing....
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