Lush

Last night’s alcohol tinged between the seams of his lips, laced with words far too daring to be muttered through sober petals. For the arrogance of whiskey rests upon man’s regal shades of violet beneath sleepless pupils. As does the grime within his soul between sultry sheets and skinny hips of women.

Darling buds of June echoed throughout his garden, the pastels of tulips and the perfume of roses. Untouched by winter’s child. Pure with the delicacy of sprites’ fragile noses, without a brush from the thorns of a stately martyr.

"Darling, my darling" ached the jaw of such a man.

Plain from exhaustion, and redundant from concern. Tepid breath upon his throat, with a hand upon her pungent thigh, careless prostitute; bitter liquor and merry men.