January

On The Social Night, a subject i find intriguing

The night begins with good intentions,

As nights usually do, but little by little,

The faces appear.

The glasses make their surreptitious way out from the cupboard

And feel the worrisome knock of ice

The quietly comforting singe of

Lips and liquid.

But the ice melts, and the lips, the lips...

Their thirst never ends.

The lips remain as the men with peace of mind

And heads on their shoulders start to question themselves,

And the company they keep.