LOVE SONG OF AN INEBRIATED CITY COUNCILMAN.

Your lips are like, uh, sort of, um, I mean,
That is, you know, your eyes are sort of green,
And then your uh, that what’s it called, that face—
It’s like, uh, um….oh, heck, I lost my place.
It’s like, uh, petals of a rose. No, wait—
I think that’s what your lips are like. I hate
It when I get myself mixed up like this.
And something something blah blah blah your kiss,
No, wait, that’s later. Where was I? Um, well,
Your face. I had this memorized. Oh, hell.
I don’t care what those damn reporters think.
Screw rehab. Waiter! Bring another drink.

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