Virtue of the Moth: Poems by Danny Price
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Spirits
Anxious lips pucker for that stinging poison kiss;
spirits of the damned that host a hell of a good time.
No cost is too great; all the money, away, we piss.
Shun the days worries; of responsibilities we're remiss,
and it all goes down so smoothly with just a squeeze of lime.
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