Tapas Night

Next to a pot where the pickled entrails sat,
All Pollock flicked splatters and ripe gluttony,

Where tentacles lolled over the sides of chipped bowls
Like drunken snooker players stretching for shots,

Shrill laughter descending from rattling lampshades
As another cranked joke split its guts,

We shuffled wry smiles and raised eyebrows.

Bent urban songs winced into liquor for loners,
Cutlery cut shards of light flecked with spittle,

A cacophony of conversations and scuffed, shuffled furniture
Melted into mutual memories and newly mangled mistakes,

The joy of shared chaos holding hands with hot screaming,
Maimed dreams wrapped around a new entropy,

We left before the first glass was thrown.

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