Barrel Aged.

Whiskey drunk before the suns got his shot at the goal line.
Pounding away at the beater and wondering what makes it all turn over.
Can't seem to shake the smell of smoke and sweat.
Won't let her out of my head till I've beaten all the love out of it.
And still the moon rises to entertain me for another night.
And when it's half? It's when I love it most because it's me.


Duke said…
Easy, Bukowski. You’ll scare the whore.

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