The Chandon bubbles, with tranquil yellow orbs, slidding up and around and lazily swimming in the colour of sunshine or piss. Its in a long thin glass that diminishes her hand, makes it look smaller than it should be, swaying at the end of a limp wrist. Such a vivacious smile, her teeth a mirror of the row of yellowish white pearls pearched on her breasts. Thats when she was always the most beautiful, comfortable with her self in the company of a crowd. Thats the way ill always remember her, that glass of Chandon and a smile that could very well eat me. Homa. Thats you, thats what you are.
"Drunk at the matinee" is a collection of candid poetry about stupid shit that we all experience from day to day.
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