My favorite spot in my modest home, the gaudy decor as a homage to The Parlour in Prague, a wonderfully quaint below-street lounge, old books, pictures and glassware scattered around, who crafts uniquely mixed drinks per each patron's whim, as well serves and elaborates at the table on the elements and processes...
Elixirs swilled as real, ah logic lost, per anagogic lines
Amongst purrs, slurs, by nightclub felines and canines
Sensuality stirred, garnished by olive, later her lipstick
Rim so smudged, hem then nudged, his usual shtick
Else, lovers’ stints and fits, scents from previous skits
Flicks then devious flits, o’er whiskey’s schizoid-wit
Dirty martini’s android-moods, ah nonetheless broods
Subtly duels, `tween monotony’s psycho-pistol feuds
O lady he so loves, on bar her drink, gun and gloves
Mary sips, to her lips his blood, and their lust thereof
What fuss, hot as musk, fraught the dusk with death
Liken Duncan caught mid thrust, envy and Macbeth
Note:
Verses taken from my 9th book; The Memphis Nightclub Murders & Other Poetic Mysteries.
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