sometimes the best wine is the last one. the way that detroit sits inside a glass. a martini. a perfect subtlety. you can't underestimate the influence of music and the way it bottoms out in the stomach.
if you have your best foot forward, know that your toenails ought to be painted. this is where i fail. this is the music that is suspect. that is unbraziered.
so, if you can't tell. it's a night of wine. i'll add pictures later. i tell the bartender it would be best for everyone if she were in an open marriage. because i'm not terribly fond of bartenders, but the ones who are willing to entertain the cyber world of swinging are sufficient for moments like this.
i am not awfully good at competition. so here's to all the girls who are unsure of how to be vamps. vamping is the best blood medicine. the best power. the most significant common denominator. i guarantee (and this is my pinky swear) there will be men out there who find it necessary to be mean to you in order not to love you. they will say as much.
they will pull out the stops. and you will still have to deal with lonely. and it will still bring you back to poems. and men next to you, with their apple martinis, they'll still resort to their journals to work out whatever incandescent flame is burning for you with all their unbridled desire. who doesn't want more than they have?
who doesn't .
we all do. want whatever is the closest to this feeling of wine in our guts. to that feeling of elation. we don't want to be drunk.
we want to be alive.
forgive us, for how we come to attain this. for how we swing our bodies into such elation. and how heated our taste buds are over it.