my neurons because vodka got drunk
again, the bottle emptied itself past my dull tastes
the bottle followed a nymph towards debauchery
holding her head in my lap
contriving to impale her with the hardest part.
Snap out ready of this taxi nap!
Who wants of wantonness?
of shadowy lust? I help her up the stairs
then hear her full throated ease
into the toilet. Asleep on the bed,
my bowels need to unfurl what I’ve been fed
tonight. The faucet leaks with sonorous whaps
a musty stench combined with the raw
intestinal sewage of the nymph's rotting innards accrue
phosphaturia with it’s waterfall sounds queue
and the phosphorescent chemical attack via jaw
all have one thing to save them, thrown wide-open elf of adieu,
I pick up the pink with black lace, g-string wet in the sink
an aberration to the dank, the dirty, and the stink
and return to the bed a man of review and armor
to deflower this smooth girl's empty-stomach'd honor
found this and believe it's my version of "Ode to a Nightingale"
during my massive John Keats phase (which thankfully has passed)
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