bad news

came walking into the local
watering hole with all seductive
prowess of an unspeakable
lil’ nothing found deep in the
most animalistic sweat of a
long saturday afternoon in
august where the sun beats
down making the hair stick to
the forehead whilst the beads
flow in itty bitty streams down
the chest hair rolling down the
valleys of cleavage cascading
off the nipples like cliff jumpers
with death wishes sporting
pouty lips of paradise come
sprinkling down in every kiss
and they make their way on the
glass edge as the first drink
is pushed back the how the why
the following occurs is all
water under the proverbial
bridge if let be that way but
this one is bad bad news &
the chances of a relapse are
as sure as the proverbial
sun will rise.