small words

Small words and vogue winks,
friends and almost pugilists,
shot of vodka, whisky, or rye,
cheers, clink, clink, and salute.
The conversation begins, and
soon, all I am will take flight;
the noose is quick round my neck.

I’ll cross the line, go too far,
offend with rapier tongue;
two-step or twirl on the stool,
is an easy dance or swing.
First I lead then I follow,
give and take until
inevitable knots embrace
as regret and doubt are
consequence and contempt
for me, for you, for all.

Why does it always sour?
Our camaraderie and revelry
plunge to mutually assured
random acts of despair?
Then, farewell and convalesce,
in plastic wrap caves of plaster,
recycle temperate breaths
as the hollows blow in
on vehement invisible fog.

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