Another little
black dress
Xmas mixer
but my intoxicant ,
straight up

a sin
at these shindigs
It now seems
as the hostess
eyeballs my lack
of a highball

But, I wet my
whistle sans
As the Season
inevitably leaves its lesions ,
as certain as one hemline
will appear… to entice

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Tis The Season

A wind shift blew away my playlist humidity damns my mix-tape summer flings just the 
static cling that sparks but fails 
to charge that frayed ...........