Aftermath

Form: Quintilla

Last night dancing the tiles all red
Our feet talking more than words said
Glasses overflowing with wine
Until we were ready for bed
Those drunken senses felt divine
Now when does the hangover stop
When does the brain cease going pop
A grinding mill inside the mind
And the missus is in a strop
The morning after thus defined
Photo by Eva Elijas on Pexels.com

©JGFarmer2021

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