Days of Wine and Roses

At night I wrap my arms around

the her slender back and unclasp

the clip holding her bra, we lay

and laugh as I tickle her bellybutton,

and we kiss in torrid fumes,

and I make love to the fairest

rose that bloomed in spring.

In the morning I am thrown

out of the bed, hair sticky, by

a fat arm, loose cellulite

hanging, and the drizzle

of saliva off her chipped

mouth staining the cover,

the stench of graped

beverage intimating the

room, the empty bottles

mocking testament.


This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.

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