the guise
of liquor.
you could smell it on her
breath
across the room,
a three martini
high with one more
in hand.
full of wit and knowledge
and not opposed
to throwing up
her dress to reveal
a stockinged thigh.
with her lips painted red
in perpetual
pucker,
her eye lashes
like butterflies, all
a flutter.
once on land and off
the plane
she was the life
of the party.
and the death of me.
rest in peace dear girl.
though i doubt
that's possible.
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