She jokes
that when I’m drunk
I start speaking properly.
The rest of the time
I stumble over my words
and won’t look her in the eye.
I can always tell when you are drunk,
she says,
you start talking like an English professor
and making sense.
And you don’t mumble anymore.
Your voice booms with confidence.
It’s like a whole other person.
I tell her to enjoy it while it lasts.
Tomorrow I will be sober.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a male gigolo for hire. Presently residing along the sunny shores of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where he spends his days drinking discount Tequila and accusing chemtrails of being "sky farts." His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Under The Bleachers.
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I enjoy liquids as well although rather warm liquids are my preference. I think that you should take a picture with your shirt off so that I can give you a proper criticism in my Hello Kitty underwear. I would rate this write a solid 3 boners.
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