Flowered wickedness wafts the scent of pining

Under the navy sky that salutes us

A climate change sours our taste of debauchery

And the yeast in our beer hardens

On the footpath of our social expressions

A smelly friend smiles his yellowed teeth

As the No. 8 tram rattles past (with its unmelodious clamour)

And we all shout - for we missed our ride home

The scent of pining follows our distracted trail

(As we continue our ashen excesses)

landing in the gulp of our drunkenness 

Inside, the beating heart asks for forgiveness

Whilst the repertoire of our skills fails to move forward

Fails to eventuate

Stumped by a merciless fatigue

It begins to domesticate, like termites in carpeted floors

And the pining that asked for nothing more but respect –

evaporated in the acid of our stomachs.

 [Image 'Ash' by chrisvick on Flickr]