Stories of late nights
with loud company, my
tall friend’s trashy jokes
each drained glass bottle has a
sense of nostalgia and purpose.
In between a swearing game of carom
my powdered fingers found a
napkin to jot down a new expletive
Who knows , could be useful
Aside, it romanced in nacho sauce.
Unsteady gaits reach out in
search of beds and /or their mates, haa
it rhymed; the stuff
in the bin from last night is
These bottles deserve
to be immortalized so that its energy
could keep circulating for years
to come; when we are distanced
and fall in other chaos.