in alcohol there is a relaxation of inhibition...
in the sweet tropical fruit. words of wisdom come tumbling off the tongue. to spill the golden nectar upon the pinkness of flesh. the fuzzy peach flesh of youth. the tender skin of naivete. to trickle sumptuously among the round firm globe of ripe fruit.
the dance of fire lit tropics. the grainy sweetness of sand. the rich tang of the salt and musk. sweat and sea air.
an underlying heady scent of overripe fruit. of overheavy women. of the crush of culture and change.
excitement and despair. mix and mingle. a bittersweet happiness melds with an overzealous reality.
and all that is left. is the golden current in an empty glass.
the last legs running slowly.
until all is tasted.
all is taken in.
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