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Cup Of Gin, Bombay

Tags: musings

An old broken poet, he has a hungry eye
for the darkening clouds coming his way
with pen and ink, he whittled a thirst
for a cup of gin, Bombay  

The gin was bitter, it burned his tongue
but the swill made his mind full of song
and with a well of ink, he flung a verse
for a cup of gin, Bombay

Rolling dice in a fast lane called life  
he wrote it dark into the dusk
of erotic mimes in twilight
for a cup of gin, Bombay



This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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