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 n*****s 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.