Alcoholic Poetry 17

just one night
such as this,
waiting for;
its gift to
be opened.


just one night
in all those we
dare collect;
chasing itself
like a string of lights.

just one bottle
and something changes,
the color of the night
as it bargain with
lives unwanted.

clean lines in the
darkness delineate, the
boudnaries of this island
as it fondles sharp the
edges of its coean.

no time left to amend
for promises inconsistent,
just night on its sharpest
edge, not asking, but
wanting to be seen.

in all the colors
that have always been there.