Bitter Midnight

Bitter Midnight

Sitting upon the stool; the tip of the toes touching the floor.
The tips of his fingertips pressed against the rim of the glass.
He twirls the cup gently, as the ice dance gracefully.
Grinning softly, he catches the moon’s reflection in the glass.

As if he was caught, and scorn her with jealously and he held victory.
Proudly he lifts the glass to her and pressed the rim to lips; intimately they kissed.
The mistress’ fluids flowed down his lips; he placed the glass hard against table.
In the end the affair was simply shallow, in the end it was nothing at all.

Slouching at counter barely able to collect his thoughts, he downs the shot one after another.
The scenery slowly playing jovially as he broods; in the end the glasses was never enough.
Those love songs sung on stage only seem to break his hearts.
Now he finally understands the blues, and it oddly sets him as ease; as he kisses another in the corner.

Leaving the bar, alone; his only escort was the night.
Staggering to his left as he walked as if he was leaning on someone’s shoulder.
In his haziness the streetlights flickered like falling stars; the moon watches from afar.
Fumbling as he finds his keys, he lets the loneliness seeps into the small apartment.

Flinging himself onto the mattress he braces it with his arms.
Shuffling, kicking, and rolling around in the cold sheets.
He quietly whispers words of intimacy and secrets to the pillows.
The night quickly exhausts him; he falls asleep.

As he woke night has left, and day has come.