Alcoholic Poetry 10

he remarked nothing
with his words;
just echoes of
all the empty in him.

we strummed eachother
like electric guitars,
until every last chord
had been played;

and then we turned
off the amplifier
and played upon
eachother yet again.

all just vibrations,
intangibles pressing on
the soft cones in emotion
that turn shadows into sound.

the door at his back
in steep perspective;
the sheets behind us
in stern aftermath;

empty bottles are all we've ever been.