Saturday

S
The day uninterrupted
Spent being tense
Because I’m not unwinding
Fast enough
A 3 o clock whisky
Saturday treat of
Peat and tension
Relaxed dissatisfaction
Face flushed
So much relaxing
To achieve, or perhaps it’s just
The whisky’s calling card
Some would think me sad
To drink at 3 o clock
A poet on the slippery slope of
Peat and the scent of marmalade
The treat turned
More into a trick
An uncharming phantom
Much like Halloween
Thoughts dozing into
Oblivion, disappearing
Down
Foggy trails
Awaking,
To dying day
Smouldering heat fading
Subsiding into evening

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badgerslabyrinth

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By badgerslabyrinth

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