sestina//meal

Another shot of vodka
brought him closer to the lights
that moved in perpetual motion.
For him it was bliss.
Nevermind the sickness...
His world always crumbled in blue.

A master of ceremonies dressed in blue
shooting shot after shot of vodka,
he loved to serenade the sickness.
Down from his window, lights
flickered between death rattles and bliss.
Such is a world in constant motion.

Is his mind in motion
slowly fading green to blue?
A kiss for bliss
and those dry chapped lips emanating vodka.
Turn the lights
off before he welcomes back his sickness.

Is it a sickness
or some great plan set in motion?
He lights
up a cigarette exhaling smoke so blue.
His life, his breath, his vodka,
make his bliss.

Kiss this bliss
and hold the sickness
at bay with a shot of vodka.
Perepetual motion
like contrails painted in blue.
Kill the lights

and fuck the lights.
He penetrates deep. It is bliss!
Until her face turns blue
and it seems like the onset of another sickness.
Both bodies pump and fade in motion
until both are as empty as his bottle of vodka.

-------------------------------------

We sat at the mahogany table dressed in the best clothes we had. The guiding lights across the table flickered on and off incessantly. The whole house was silent save the padding of canine feet across the kitchen floor. They approached and lay down on their haunches, saliva dripping from their jaws. It dripped down like strings of pearls plucked from the craned neck of June Cleaver. All across the table were strewn silver serving platters heaped with overflowing plumes of food. Someone began to lead grace, and al heads instinctively bowed towards the cold ground underneath us. My eyes stayed fixed on the set of breasts across the table. Her entire composition was perfect. I longed to lunge across the table and captivate her in a rage of carnal lust. Amen. The table came back into the waking world. I diverted my eyes to the dogs. I knew how they felt. I was in the same boat with them. We passed around the dishes. Creamy mashed potatoes, three types of stuffing, honey-glazed ham, Italian roast beef...the things that turned men into gods. As I force-fed myself, I realized that these foods had no real taste. The one dish I fancied came to me later that night forcing my tastebuds to explode. Thinking of those spread legs, those perfect breasts, and that smile on her face, I can taste her still. The taste of a woman in heat.